A Precious Child
by SylvieT
Summary: When Catherine got to her new scene, a 418, she was far from thinking that she would need the help of ex-supervisor and entomologist Grissom to solve it. The investigation will involve all our favourite characters and has tragic consequences for Grissom. GSR.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story takes place roughly just under a year after Grissom has left the lab and Las Vegas to go to Costa Rica. The rest of the details will be apparent as the story unfolds. Imagine the story to be the very anticipated episode where Grissom makes a very welcomed return to help his former colleagues. Hope you'll give the story a try...it's an ambitious piece so I will need all the encouragement I can get!

* * *

**A precious child.**

* * *

"He…llo?" Sara whispered sleepily into the phone.

"Sara? Hi, it's Catherine."

"Catherine?" Sara repeated, keeping her voice low, wary of waking Grissom. She ran a hand through her hair, blinked a few times and pushed herself up on her elbow, squinting at the alarm clock on the opposite side of the bed. Through the blur, she made out that it was 1:15 am.

"I'm sorry to be calling you at this hour but…could I speak to Grissom?" There was an edge to Catherine's voice as she wasted no time with pleasantries.

"Grissom?" repeated Sara, trying to get her bearings.

"It's urgent."

Catherine sounded somewhat odd and Sara decided against probing for detail. She had a feeling that this would be case-related.

"Sure, hang on."

Sara put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to her right. Grissom was still fast asleep, undisturbed by the ring of the phone, curled up on his side facing her.

"Gil?" she tried. "Gil, wake up!" she repeated more forcefully when he didn't stir. She ran two light fingers the length of his beard and placed a soft kiss on his exposed cheek. Grissom mumbled in his sleep, shifting unconsciously closer to her. As her subtle efforts to rouse him weren't doing the trick, she resorted to shaking his shoulder lightly.

"Mmm…Sara…"

"Gil, wake up," she whispered loudly.

"What's wrong, honey?" he mumbled drowsily.

"It's Catherine," she stated as he rubbed his eyes, "on the phone."

"Catherine?"

He sat up abruptly, a concerned frown appearing on his brow and took the receiver from Sara, glancing at the clock. "Catherine," he said into the phone "I'm guessing…this isn't a social call?"

"Unfortunately no. I wish it was but even I would remember to call in the daytime," she said, a serious tone to her voice and then she paused. He could sense her debate with herself about what to say next.

"Well," she carried on, with evident hesitation in her voice, "we've got a badly decomposed DB in Spring Mountain. From Nick's reckoning, it's been there a while and there's a lot of insect activity. Nicky's doing what he can as far as insect collection and study's concerned…"

"But?"

"Something's not as straightforward as he'd like and he…we" she amended quickly, "would _really_ appreciate your second opinion."

_Nick's competent enough to handle insects' collection and draw basic timeline,_ Grissom mused.

"You…would?" Grissom asked hesitantly, peering through the darkness over to Sara's side.

"Yeah." He heard Catherine undisguised sigh over the line. "Potentially, this has all the makings of being a high profile case and while we don't want to get ourselves ahead of the evidence, we don't want to draw the wrong conclusions or miss anything probative either."

"When was the body found?"

"Earlier on this evening."

Grissom let out a small breath. _Every minute counts._ "Nick's still on the scene now?"

"Afraid so. It's going to be a very long shift. Anyway, I've already cleared it with Ecklie…" she added with a trace of hope in her voice, "and if you agree, he's sanctioned for the lab to retain your services as a consultant on this case."

"Well, it must be very high profile indeed." Grissom retorted. "I expect you're not willing to divulge any more information?"

"Willing, yes but I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss the minutiae of the case, you know that. Not until…"

"Yeah, I know." Grissom interrupted. While his curiosity was piqued, he was uncertain whether to accept without discussing it with Sara first.

Grissom felt the mattress shift, looked over to where Sara had been lying and found that she had got out of bed to retrieve his travel bag from the top of the wardrobe. He switched the bedside lamp on; as she turned round to put the bag on the bed she met his gaze and Grissom nodded his head in gratitude, smiling tenderly at her.

"I'll be on the first flight out," he finally told Catherine. "Make sure to tell Nick to leave the body where it is and to remember to photo-document the insects every two minutes or so as well as record the ambient temperature. I'm sure he's already doing that though."

"Yeah, he is. And thanks Gil, I was hoping you'd say yes," she paused briefly. "I already booked you on the next red eye to McCarran. Your plane ticket will be waiting for you at the airport information desk and I'll make sure there's a car when you land, ready to take you to the scene."

Grissom cocked an eyebrow at Sara and wearily shook his head. _This case must be very important indeed for her to be acting so quickly and by the sound of it with Ecklie's backing._

He didn't get to voice his reply though as Catherine had already ended the call. He reached over to Sara's side of the bed and replaced the receiver on the stand.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" he asked her, slowly swinging his legs out of the bed.

"Why should I?" She replied with a soft smile. "I know Catherine wouldn't have called unless she really needed your help."

Grissom nodded his head distractedly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You're right. She was very tight-lipped about the case, as if she wasn't telling me everything she could have. Nick knows enough about insects to handle basic timeline. I wonder…" he let his words trail, thoughts already swirling in his mind.

He bent down to pick up his boxer shorts from the floor to pull them on. "I should start packing," he said getting to his feet. He looked up toward Sara, met her gaze and gave her an uncertain smile. "You could come with me."

"You know I can't. I've got classes and Noah…" she shrugged.

"I love you."

"I know," she murmured. She walked round to where he was standing, opened her arms and gave him a tight hug.

He returned the embrace and kissed her on the top of the head. "Thank you."

"I'll call Stanford in the morning to let them know. How long do you think they're going to need you?"

"A few days. A week at the most."

Sara nodded her understanding. "Don't worry. I've got everything covered this end. We'll be fine."

* * *

_Two weeks previously. Sunset Park. Las Vegas. 5.00pm._

Vartann screeched to a halt and parked his Taurus at the curb behind a procession of black and whites. A 418, dispatch had said. He quickly made his way to a uniformed officer guarding the scene, had a brief conversation with him and followed his gaze toward a hunched man sitting on the grass, head in his hands, away from all the commotion.

Vartann looked at his watch and strode purposefully towards the man. "Mr Kessler? Sir?" Vartann called, trying to get the man's attention.

The man looked up startled. "Have you found her?" he asked, voice and expression full of hope.

"No. Sorry, Sir. I'm Detective Vartann," he stated as the man's face fell in disappointment.

Vartann crouched down I front of Kessler as he pulled out his pen and notebook from his breast pocket, acutely aware that time was always of the essence in cases of missing persons. Especially when it involved missing children.

"Before we get started," he continued, "can you clarify your relationship to the missing little girl?"

"I'm her grand-father. Jerome Kessler."

"Okay, Mr Kessler. Can you start at the beginning and tell me exactly what you told the first officers on the scene, please?"

Kessler started his account for the second time that afternoon. "Ali was playing in the sand pit…"

"Ali?" Vartann interrupted.

"Alison."

"Okay. So, she was in the sand pit and…" Vartann repeated, scribbling into his pad.

The man wearily ran a trembling hand through his hair. "Well, I'd been pushing her on the swings for so long and she just wanted to go higher and higher, reach the sky, you know?" the man asked with a sad smile on his face.

Vartann nodded. When the man didn't continue his account, seemingly lost in the recollection, Vartann prompted. "Mr Kessler?"

"Sorry?" Kessler shook his head back to reality. "Oh, yeah. Anyway, my arms were aching from all the pushing so I told her to go play in the sandpit for a while, while I went to sit on the bench over there," he said pointing to a bench between ten and fifteen metres away, behind the crime scene tape.

"I picked up my newspaper and got engrossed in this article and she was playing nicely, you know? over there," he told the detective pointing toward some scattered toys in the sand. "I can't have taken my eyes off her for more than a few minutes. Five at the absolute most."

"Okay. And then, when you noticed she wasn't there, what did you do?"

"Well, at first, I didn't panic. I thought she must have got fed up and had just gone to play on the slide or on the climbing frame." He shrugged helplessly. "I looked around and when I couldn't see her, I called her name and then I searched all over the playground and then the park. She was gone maybe ten minutes by then." He motioned to his left. "These two ladies helped look with me. When I couldn't find her…" he let out a long sigh, "I called 911 straightaway."

"You did the right thing." Vartann said reassuringly. "We've got officers searching the surrounding area and I've got some police cadets on the way as well as a CSI. And I'll be taking these ladies' statements next."

Kessler pondered that for a while. His gaze was fixed on the ground, his fingers nervously fraying a blade of grass.

"Where could she be, detective? It's going to be dark soon." Kessler whispered, his eyes misting over. "Ali's scared of the dark. Oh my God, what am I going to tell her grand-mother?"

"Her grand-mother. Is she out looking for her?"

Kessler shook his head slowly. "No," he replied. "It's complicated," he apologised.

"Sir, every single detail is important. Complicated is my bread and butter."

"Well, her grand-mother and I are separated but we share custody and have her alternate weeks. Her grand-mother is out of town today."

"Mr Kessler," Vartann asked, "is it possible that Alison has wandered off somewhere?

"What? No," he said shaking his head emphatically. "She knows better than that. We've told her not to talk to strangers either. She's not a trusting child by nature. I don't think…"

Vartann insisted with this line of questioning. "Could she have hidden and fallen asleep? Did you tell her off maybe and she's sulking?"

"No!" Kessler interjected, squeezing his eye shut tightly. "She wouldn't do that."

"Okay," the detective softly conceded for now, aware that he was getting the man agitated. "I understand she's five. Would she know her way home? Do you live locally?"

"No. We live over in Henderson. But we like this park and we come here on occasion, on a Saturday when we can."

"You say you have custody. What about her parents? Could she have gone with them regardless?"

"No. That's not possible. Her mother's dead and her father…well, she doesn't know about him." Kessler waved his arm about, shaking his head dismissingly.

Vartann raised his eyebrows in interest and made a note to look into it. "I know you've gone through this before but it will help me if you could give me a detailed description," continued the detective.

"Alright." Kessler closed his eyes and rubbed them wearily. "Ali's about four feet tall; she's quite tall for her age. She's got longish blond hair…"

"Shoulder length, longer?" cut in Vartann.

"Down to her shoulder but today it's platted in a French braid…she likes it out of the way you know?"

Vartann nodded earnestly, taking quick notes in his book and waiting for more detail. When none was forthcoming, he asked: "What is she wearing?"

"Mmm…she's got her favourite blue jeans on and a plain white T-shirt…mmm…it's got a stain at the front. Ice cream? Double chocolate, her favourite," the grand-father added with a sad smile.

"Are these her shoes?" Vartann asked, motioning toward a pair of red patent Mary-Janes.

"Huh?" Kessler looked to his right and nodded meekly. "She took them off to go to the sand pit, said the sand was tickling her toes…" his voice broke. "I had them in case I found her, so she'd put them on." He let out a long deep breath. "She can't be far, can she? You're going to find her soon, aren't you? I don't understand. She knows she's to stay where I can see her, not to stray. I looked everywhere…Do you think someone took her?"

"Mr Kessler, we don't know that yet. I can assure you we'll do everything we can to find her. Can you excuse me, just for an instant?" Vartann asked, getting to his feet from his crouched position and moving to the side while tugging his radio out of his jacket pocket.

"Dispatch? This is detective Vartann," he spoke into the radio.

"Go ahead, detective."

"Can you arrange for a canine unit to come to my location asap?"

"Affirmative."

The detective waited an instant while dispatch checked the availability of the unit. The radio buzzed back to life. "They're over in North Las Vegas so it might be a little while."

"10-4" replied the police officer.

Vartann pocketed his radio and turned back to Kessler. "The scent dogs are on their way, Sir." Kessler nodded his head. "In the meantime, is there anything else you can tell me?"

Kessler appeared to think for a moment when suddenly his face lit up, he got up and started running toward the bench where his possessions were scattered.

"Sir, please. You mustn't cross the tape," Vartann called, following behind.

Kessler stopped dead in his tracks and turned round toward the detective. "Her Dora. I can't see it. It's gone too."

"Dora?"

"Dora the Explorer. She doesn't go anywhere without it."

When he caught Vartann's puzzled face, he explained. "It's a small canvas backpack with a picture of Dora on the front. It's old, battered and faded," he rattled off with enthusiasm.

_I'm not sure that helps, _thought Vartann. "Good," he smiled. "Back to her description. Does she have any distinguishing features?"

"Distinguishing features?"

Kessler's question was muffled by the high-pitched drone of a small aeroplane approaching nearby McCarran airport for landing. This interruption only served to remind Vartann of the fact that he would need to send out an APB to the security team at the airport as soon as possible.

When the noise of the aircraft had subsided, the detective clarified. "Any moles, birthmarks, scars, anything you can think of that would help us identify her when we find her?"

"What? You mean if you find her body? Oh my God! You think she's dead?" the man asked frantic with worry.

"No, no, not at all." Vartann replied in a calm voice. "Sir," he put a comforting hand on Kessler's shoulder. "It would help _especially_ if she's alive."

"Sorry but I can't think of anything," Kessler mumbled dejectedly. He suddenly jerked his head up to meet Vartann's expectant face. "Of course," he said, voice rising in animation, "how did I not think of that? You know, you see them everyday and after a while you don't pay attention…"

"Attention to what, Mr Kessler?" the detective cut in impatiently.

"Heterochromia."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a genetic condition, her mother had it. Her eyes…they're a different colour. Her left one's brown and the right one blue."

Vartann shook his head in wonderment and jotted it down in his notebook. "Do you happen to have a picture of her with you? I may need to use it if we haven't located her by night-time."

"I do." Kessler said with a hopeful smile, glad there was something he could help with at long last. "It's in my wallet in my jacket pocket on the bench."

Detective Vartann noticed CSI Willows striding decisively towards them. She was carrying her silver metallic field kit. He walked a few steps to meet her and gave her a welcoming and grateful smile. He had been expecting someone from the swing shift and was delighted at her unexpected and very prompt appearance.


	2. Chapter 2

Catherine watched Vartann move away from a distraught man she assumed to be the father of the missing child and make his way to meet her, a warm smile on his lips.

"Catherine," he sang out, nodding his head in greeting, "it's a little early, isn't it, even for you?"

"Tony," she acknowledged in the same playful tone he had used, with a slight bow of her head, "half of swing's still in court giving evidence on the Lola Nuñes case and the other half's tied up at some robbery at the Venetian. So you got me!"

"Hey! I wasn't complaining," he smiled. "Thanks for coming so swiftly."

Catherine gave a sad nod as her mind flitted back to the dispatch message. She shook her head back to the present while pushing her sunglassesback onto the top of her head. "The dispatch said the 418 was a little girl, so I got here as soon as I could."

"Yeah." The detective nodded and pointed to the lone man pacing by the tape. "The girl's five-year-old Alison Kessler and this man's grand-daughter." He took a quick look at his watch. "She's been missing just over an hour now. Could just be a case of hide and seek…" he started, his tone unconvinced.

"Abduction?" ventured Catherine, putting her heavy field kit down by her feet.

Vartann shrugged and let out a sigh. "Too early to say but…the poor man's looked everywhere and so have my guys. If she was in the park, we'd have found her by now."

"It's big and she could have wandered off out of the park," Catherine offered feebly, "and got lost. She's a bit too young to be a runaway but you never know."

_Regardless, she must be one scared little girl right now,_ mused Catherine.

Vartann shrugged his shoulders again, got his notebook out of his breast pocket and then proceeded to surmise what he knew about Alison and her disappearance and quickly got her up to speed. "Are you on your own?" he asked at the end of his account.

"No. Nick and Greg are on their way. Riley's got the night off. I'll call Ray for back-up if and when we need it."

"Okay" Vartann said.

Catherine cast a quick glance over the play area and her gaze lingered an instant over the vast expanse of the park beyond.

"What are you thinking?" The detective asked**, **his gaze following the CSI's.

"I used to bring Lindsey here when she was little," Catherine said quietly, letting out a small sigh. "You do know there's a fishing lake beyond those trees, don't you?"

"I do now," replied Vartann with a sigh, quickly jotting it down in his notebook.

Then the policeman motioned for them to go and talk to Kessler. He waited for Catherine to pick her kit up and guided her by the arm to the man still pacing by the crime scene tape, cell phone in hand, muttering under his breath.

"Sir?"

Kessler turned round, looked up toward them and shrugged his shoulders helplessly while slipping his cell in his pocket. "Can't get a hold of her grand-mother," he mumbled edgily.

"Sir," Vartann said, "this is Catherine Willows, night-shift supervisor of the crime lab."

Catherine offered a small smile. "Sorry to be meeting you under these circumstances."

"Mr Kessler," continued Vartann, "Ms Willows is going to get your jacket so you can give us your picture of Alison. Alright?"

"Sure."

Catherine lifted the crime tape, deftly stepped underneath it, snapping on some latex gloves and walked to the bench where she picked up the man's jacket. She made her way back and handed it to Kessler. He reached into the breast pocket with trembling hands, retrieved his wallet and pulled out a small close-up shot of a beaming little girl that he handed to Catherine.

The supervisor sneaked a look. "She's beautiful," she said before passing the photograph to Vartann.

Kessler nodded but remained silent.

"Was the photograph taken recently?" the detective asked Kessler.

"Hum…last year, I think" he replied.

"Is it okay if I keep a hold of it for now? I'm going to put an APB out to all patrols, city and county wide, at the airport, train and bus stations too."

"Thank you," Kessler uttered. Then he hesitated for an instant, rubbed his eyes with his right hand and turned toward Catherine. "Will…huh…will Dr Grissom be involved in the…case?"

Catherine looked confused. "No," she answered uncertainly, "I'm afraid Griss…Dr Grissom does not work for the crime lab anymore."

"Oh!" Kessler whispered with obvious disappointment.

"If it's any consolation, I worked with him for…"

"No, no, I'm sorry," Kessler cut in. "I didn't mean to doubt…I didn't mean any disrespect. It's just that…Dr Grissom is familiar with our family situation. I was hoping he could have…" Kessler sighed deeply, "but never mind."

_Kessler? Could this man be related to Heather Kessler? Suddenly, the penny dropped. _"May I ask?" Catherine asked, needing clarification before going further with the conversation. "Is Grissom a friend of yours?"

"Not exactly," Kessler said clearly hesitating. "More a friend of…a friend. You see Heather and him…"

"Of course." Catherine interrupted. "Kessler! I should have realised. I'm with you now. You're Heather's husband."

Vartann cocked an eyebrow in interest at the turn the events were taking.

"Ex-husband, please," Kessler corrected with a slight wince at being called her husband, "briefly and a very long time ago."

Vartann's radio crackled into life and Officer Mitchell's voice could be heard echoing through the detective's jacket pocket. He moved to the side while Catherine and Kessler both remained silent, trying but failing to hear what was being discussed.

As he replaced the radio in his pocket, Vartann made his way back to the expectant pair. "Good timing," he exclaimed. "The cadets and canine unit are here. If you don't mind, I'll head over there. I'll also need to take Alison's shoes so the dogs can get a good sniff of her scent" he told the grand-father who slowly nodded his assent.

"Tony?" Catherine called as Vartann was moving away. He turned round as she reached into her kit for a clear evidence bag. When she handed it to him, he smiled sheepishly at his oversight. "Make sure to bag and tag them first," she told him kindly and indicating with a nod the arrival of one of the lab's silver Denali, she added, "and can you tell Greg to follow the dogs? He'll know what to do. Meanwhile, Nick and I will get started on processing the sand pit."

"Okay. Afterwards, I'll circulate Alison's picture and take the two women's statements over there. I'll keep you abreast if anything comes up."

It wouldn't be dark for a few more hours yet but the light was starting to fade already, the air saturated with an ashen wash of twilight. From her vantage point behind the crime scene tape, Catherine took the time to survey the scene before her and did a very slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn on her heels sweeping her eyes over every detail that could be pertinent.

The scattered toys in the sand pit; the deserted play equipment and taped-off playground; the few hangers-on staring at the _action _over on the far side; the police cadets spreading out to begin their thorough search of the park; the K 9 unit unloading the dogs from the van near where Greg and Nick were deep in conversation with Detective Vartann; and finally her gaze settled again on the crime scene.

Or was it a crime scene?

Despite the warmth of the late afternoon autumnal sun, Catherine felt a chill run through her body.

_If Alison had been hiding, she'd have come out by now. A five-year-old, in the park on her own, she's got to be one petrified little girl. Too scared to come out maybe?_

God what if it had been Lindsey? The two of them had spent many an afternoon in this very park over the years eating ice-cream and just having a fun time. How many times had such quality time been cut short by the ringing of her cell phone and her attention diverted from intently watching her daughter while she had been playing?

_This just has to be every parent's worse nightmare. _

God, what would _she_ have done in a similar situation? She only felt deep sympathy for Jerome Kessler and for Heather too when she found out. She could only begin to imagine the immense pain and heartache the woman would be feeling.

"Catherine? Are you all right?" Nick's concerned voice startled her out of her daydream.

She turned toward him and offered a weak smile in greeting. "Yeah. Sorry, I was just…" She shook her head. "Never mind."

"I know." Nick murmured, returning her smile with one of his own. "Did you know Lady Heather had a grand-daughter?"

She nodded her head. "Remember the Jacob Wolfowitz's case four years ago? Doc said then that Zoe Kessler had had a child. I just didn't know what had happened to it."

"Well, I really hope we find her soon."

They had had their fair share of missing children over the years – some cases had ended well, others hadn't – and in every single case they would witness first hand the parents' anguish and do what they could to help but they both knew this case would be _different_.

Catherine plastered her best perfunctory smile on her face but she knew Nick would see straight through it. She wouldn't, couldn't let this case get to her. Let it become personal.

What the hell! What was she thinking? They would probably find Alison safe and sound anyway.

Nick waited a moment for Catherine to speak and when she remained silent he informed her, "Vartann's extended the search radius to a mile and Greg's following the dogs. They must have picked up Alison's scent because they scurried off out of the park toward Tomiyasu Lane at a fair speed. I've got Alison's shoes with me."

"Good," Catherine told him, her focus returning. "Hopefully we can find her soon and this nightmare can be over."

Nick was silent for a while seemingly worried about his boss's reaction to the case. As he opened his field case to get his camera out and get started, Catherine said, "Nick, can you take some general shots of the playground and its content and then start collecting evidence?"

"On it," Nick said bending under the tape.

"Meanwhile, I'll make a start on the sketching…" Catherine began but was interrupted by the loud shouting of a cadet fifty yards away.

"Detective Vartann, over here," she heard. "We may have found something."

A look of dread filled her eyes. She picked up her kit and started to run in the direction of the shouts but was impended in her progress by the weight of her case. She was soon overtaken by a frantic Kessler who was almost sprinting towards the two cadets. He reached the east entrance of the park first and she saw him struggle with one of the cadets as he tried to grab whatever was lying on the ground behind a small tree.

_Oh my god!_ _Please, let it not be a body._

Kessler collapsed noisily onto his knees, held back by the second cadet.

"What have you got?" she exclaimed, panting breathlessly as she got to the bougainvillea, hoping against all hopes that it wasn't Alison's dead body.

"This," the first cadet said, pointing towards a dirty teddy bear. Judging by Kessler's reaction, she could only deduce that the item belonged to Alison.

"Mr Kessler, please. Is this Alison's?" Catherine whispered as Vartann arrived, breathing hard.

The grand-father nodded once, his eyes filling with tears. "It was in her backpack. She would never have voluntarily left it behind. It's the only thing she's got of her mother… Can I have it? Please?"

"I'm very sorry, sir, but no." The CSI apologised with a rueful smile. "It's evidence and it might have some trace that could help us if indeed she…"

"Is that what you think? That she's been taken?" Kessler interrupted, gasping.

Catherine gave him a small pinched smile and placed her hand in the crook of his arm helping him up to his feet. She could find no words of comfort to offer him that wouldn't be lies.

As Catherine didn't respond, Vartann replied. "We don't know yet but it's a strong possibility."

Catherine bent down to open her kit and take out her camera. "I'll deal with this," she eventually told the young recruits.

She then proceeded to take several pictures of the teddy bear and bagged and tagged it, all done under the watchful eye of Kessler. Vartann in the meantime excused himself and went to resume his interviews of the two witnesses.

"We'll know more when I get this back to the lab," she offered finally.

The cadets followed by Kessler went off to continue their search of the grounds as Catherine purposefully made her way back towards Nick and the sand pit.

She heard the younger CSI snap a couple of pictures in quick succession before she saw him bent over one of the many evidence markers he had already scattered about. He looked to have been very busy in the short time she had left him and appeared to have singled out some shoe prints as well as the toys.

"Nice," she called in a light tone, pointing to the booties on his feet.

Nick straightened up and turned round to face her. "Didn't want to add my shoeprints to the mix," he retorted with a smile.

"Come on Nicky, what have you got?" she asked. "And tell me that it's more than a few sandcastles."

The young CSI removed his forensic ball cap and scratched his head wearily. "It's a mess, Catherine. Too many shoe and foot prints to isolate or count; even if I eliminate the smaller size prints. Add to that the fact that either they overlap each other or are too distorted to get a good impression and..." Nick shrugged his shoulder apologetically. "As you can see though," he continued pointing to a few evidence markers leading away from the toys out of the sand pit, "I have managed to isolate five clear and distinctive adult size shoe prints over there. I'll cast them but how can we be sure that they belong to our _abductor_ and not a parent or even Mr Kessler?"

"I'll print Jerome Kessler's shoes and fingers next to rule him out."

Nick nodded his head. "Do we agree Alison's been taken? I heard the cadets found something…"

"Yeah, her teddy bear. It all points in that direction unfortunately so we'll treat the case as such and not leave anything to chance. Not that we would anyway."

"Okay," Nick said in a soft voice. "Now, there's something else and maybe I should have started with that. The bucket's plastic handle seems to be snapped off at the side…"

"You think someone yanked it from her grasp?"

"Could be. I'll make sure to print it and the rest of the toys too just in case, while the plaster of Paris dries."

"Are there any obvious signs of struggle?" Catherine asked. "Although if that had been the case, her grand-father would have been alerted to the fact that something was wrong," she mused answering her own question. "I'll mention it to Vartann so that we can compare this to the witnesses' statements."

"You know Catherine," Nick said, continuing with his previous train of thoughts, "the handle could just have been broken to start off with."

Catherine let out a sigh, nodding her head slowly. _Little evidence and none of it conclusive. _She then heard the joyful bark of a dog playing fetch in the distance. _Maybe the scent dogs would have more luck,_ she thought.

"Sorry I don't have more," Nick mused aloud after a moment.

The supervisor shrugged sadly. "The evidence is what it is, Nicky."

"Still."

"Let's hope Greg fared better."

"Meanwhile, I'll keep digging." Nick gave her a soft wink in an attempt to perk her up. "So to speak."

She smiled at his kindness and looked at her watch. Almost 6.30 pm. Time to get an update from Greg. As she took her cell phone out of her pants pocket to inquire after his progress, the device vibrated in her hand before she even had time to scroll down the list of names. She smiled when she recognised the caller's ID.

"Greg," she replied without preamble, "tell me you've got something."

"Well" he started a little breathlessly "you want the bad, the not-so-bad or the good news?"

Catherine let out a long breath. "Cut to the chase."

"All right. She definitely left the park. The dogs picked up her trail leading away in a northern direction toward East Sunset Road for a hundred metres."

"How do you know they didn't pick up her scent from when she _arrived_ at the park?"

"I was hoping you'd ask me that and I've got an answer. I checked with Vartann who checked with grandpa and they arrived from the opposite direction. As a matter of fact the dogs stopped by Kessler's car on the way out, had a good sniff but carried on round. Did you know he drives a Porsche Boxter?"

"Greg!" she protested impatiently.

"Sorry."

_Well, we might not have to dredge the lake after all,_ Catherine thought."The bad news?" she asked, still undecided as to whether his last piece of information was good or bad.

"Well the dogs sprinted off again – and I tell you next time Riley can do the foot pursuit! – and they followed Alison's trail all the way over to Pine Street and stopped just in front of St Mary's church**.** They circled around that same spot on the side of the road and that was it. The trail ran cold. I'm thinking the kidnapper had a car waiting there."

"Possibly," she said sceptically. There was no evidence of a kidnapper yet. "Is that where you're at now?"

"Yep, I've noticed…"

Catherine couldn't make out what Greg said next, his reply drowned out by the loud roaring of the thrusting jet engines of yet another aeroplane departing from McCarran. She tilted her head up toward the sound to watch a Boeing 737 climb steeply into the sky and negotiate a tight upward turn in the distance.

_Alison could be on any of these planes by now_ she mused.

Greg promptly came back on the line. "Do you want me to head to the airport next?" he asked seemingly reading her mind.

She smiled into the phone. "No. Vartann's put an APB out with airport security and the air marshals so…let's trust our law enforcement colleagues and hope they're keeping an eye out."

"What I was trying to say before" Greg continued, "is that I noticed some traffic cameras over on East Sunset Road. I thought I could go check them out."

"Good idea. Concentrate on any surveillance, CCTV footage, traffic cameras, anything that could have picked up Alison's whereabouts. We don't know that she's not lost, just walking around trying to find her way back."

"True. But we're talking a bit more than a mile here…and bare-footed."

Catherine could hear the disbelief in Greg's words. "Listen Greg, when you have a list of where the cameras are, get it to the lab. When Ray comes in, he can go through the proper channels to secure warrants for the recordings. You in the meantime will start on door-to-door canvas, retracing your steps back toward the park. I'm going to call Riley in and get her to give you a hand. How does that sound?"

"Great," Greg muttered, unimpressed.

"So I guess that takes care of the good news," she said ignoring his last comment. "Good work Greg and keep me in the loop."

With that, she snapped her phone shut, walked toward the bench Kessler had been sitting on and began to scan the surrounding area for further evidence. She saw his discarded newspaper as well as a small cool box. _I wonder if Mr Kessler has managed to get a hold of Heather yet._

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Reviews and comments are always welcomed and appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Las Vegas. The Franklin's front room. 8 pm.

"_We have breaking news from the channel 8 newsroom right now. An Amber Alert has been issued in Clark County this evening for missing five-year-old Alison Kessler."_

"Oh no! Not another one," the woman murmured, lifting her gaze from that night's TV listings.

"_Little Alison went missing at around 4.30 earlier this afternoon from Sunset Park, Las Vegas. The park is located in the south-east part of the Las Vegas Valley, diagonally across from McCarran Airport."_

"Toby! Look! Isn't that the little girl we saw at the park this afternoon?" the woman exclaimed as Alison's picture filled the screen.

Her husband looked up from reading his newspaper to cast a casual glance toward the TV set. "Nah. What are you on about, woman?" he muttered uninterestedly.

"_Alison is four-foot tall, has blond shoulder-length hair, possibly tied back and due to a genetic condition has one brown and one blue eye. Alison, who prefers to be called Ali, is wearing a pair of blue jeans, a white T-shirt and was bare-footed at the time of her disappearance." _

"I'm sure it's her," Mrs Franklin mused. "That man was carrying her, wasn't he? I remember it because it looked like she was asleep on his shoulder and I remember thinking, 'How sweet!' You remember Toby? We almost bumped into them as we were leaving the park…Luke had just fallen off his bike!"

"Yeah, I remember _that_. Hurt himself good and proper. Wailing like a girl, he was! I don't remember no man though."

"_She may also have been carrying a small backpack with a picture of 'Dora the Explorer' on it, similar to the one you can see on your screen now. Maybe you saw her in the vicinity of the park. The Authorities are asking for the public's help for any information on her whereabouts. If you know something, however trivial, regarding little Alison's disappearance, please contact the Las Vegas Police Department on 702-555-0192…"_

"I'm going to call the number anyway," she said, leaning forward to grab a pen from the coffee table and started scribbling the number down on the TV guide.

"No, Paula. I don't want no cops in the house."

"Come on, if it was Kelly missing, I'd want people to help. The parents must be frantic with worry."

"Well, they should have been watching her more closely. You know what folks are like round here."

* * *

Brass's office at PD. 8 pm.

"…_on 702-555-0192. I repeat the number for the hotline of the Las Vegas police department regarding this missing child's case is 702-555-0192. This was Paula Francis reporting for channel 8."_

Brass muted the sound of the news, his attention drawn to the extra dispatchers drafted in, ready to field the hundreds of expected calls that would be received in response to the Amber Alert. The whole floor was buzzing with activity. The additional staff were already sitting at their consoles in anticipation directly across the main glass wall separating Brass's office from the dispatch room.

_That's it, _he mused. _God knows how we're going to filter out the whackos from the nut jobs!_

With only silent pictures flickering on in the background, Brass turned his attention back to eating his sandwich while perusing the case file in front of him when he heard the soft rasp of knuckles on his office door. Without looking up, he muttered a grumpy "Come in". It had already been a long day for the police captain and it was shaping up to be a long night too.

When no one had made any attempt to enter his office after a few seconds, he reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the file, used his thumb to wipe some stray mayonnaise off his lips and slowly turned his head to peer through the glass door at his visitor.

He arched his brow in half-surprise, shoved the half-eaten sandwich in the top drawer of his desk and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth again in a half-hearted attempt at making himself presentable. He straightened up his tie but stopped short of slipping the suit jacket resting on the back of the chair back on. He then promptly got up from his desk to open the door, making sure to press the off-button on the television on the way.

As he yanked the door open – a bit too forcefully maybe – his visitor jumped slightly, startled by the movement. For one unguarded moment, a mere second in fact, just before she quickly dropped her gaze, pain flickered across Lady Heather's face like lightning.

She hesitated a moment but finally lifted her gaze to meet Brass's. "I…huh…was looking for Detective Vartann," she told Brass in a hoarse voice.

"I'm afraid he's still out in the field," Brass said with a small apologetic smile. "He's still canvassing the area around Sunset Park where the scent dogs followed and then lost Alison's trail."

"Are you looking at abduction?" Heather whispered.

_No small pleasantries for us then, _Brass mused, nodding his head in reply. "We're pretty sure we'd have found her by now if she'd got lost," he said in a soft, sympathetic tone. "Come in, maybe I can be of assistance?"

Truth be told, Brass had been expecting Lady Heather's visit at PD. Vartann had told him that Kessler had refused to leave the park lest Alison came back and had informed his captain that he had asked Lady Heather to bring in some of Alison's belongings for CSI.

What he had not expected though was the state of the woman standing at his door. This was not the Lady Heather he knew. The Lady Heather he had met seven years ago. He couldn't help notice that although she was trying to stay composed, she was a far cry from the strong, independent woman he used to know. Even though her face was immaculately made-up, it was drawn – he would even go as far as to describe it as haggard – and her eyes were puffy, slightly reddened from what he could only assumed was crying. Despite her obvious pain he knew she was intent on remaining stoic in front of him.

_We've not always seen eye to eye over the years,_ Brass thought. _Surely at a time like this we can call a truce, can't we?_

Her reply seemed hesitant. "Detective Vartann asked me to bring some of Ali's things…"

"Heather, please come in" Brass bid again, opening the door wider for her to step in. "Let's not do this out here. I really wish we were meeting again under different circumstances."

"So do I, Captain Brass," she murmured sadly.

Lady Heather came in and walked the few steps to the desk. She was clutching a big leather purse with both hands.

Brass closed the door and walked round to his chair. "Please, sit down," he offered as he motioned with an open palm toward a chair. As she moved to sit, he proceeded to do the same.

"Did you manage to bring the items CSI asked for?" he queried with a nod of his head toward the bag resting on her lap.

She nodded silently and opened the bag to peer into it. "I understand Jerome only provided an old picture of Alison. I have one here taken only last week-end. We went…" her voice broke, words catching in her throat. She paused, momentarily breaking eye contact with Brass and smoothed down the side of her fringe with a trembling hand, taking a moment to compose herself. "We went to Lake Mead for the day," she whispered hoarsely, smiling sadly at the recollection, still staring into her lap. She then quickly looked up to meet Brass's gaze. "Ali loves the water."

Lady Heather reached into her purse and extracted a photograph that she placed on the corner of Brass's desk. The captain leaned forward to take it and studied it for a long moment. It was a candid shot of a smiling, happy little girl on the back of a small pleasure boat. She was holding a fishing net, squinting into the sun, hair blowing in the wind without a care in the world. Brass's eyes flitted to the framed picture of Ellie at a similar age propped up on his desk and he shook his head sadly, putting the picture down in front of him.

Brass looked up from the photo and settled his gaze on Lady Heather. For the first time in seven years he had known her, Brass looked past the mask, the façade, the beautifully clothed, well-groomed and made-up woman and he really _saw_ her.

For the first time, Brass took the time to really observe her. Heather, the person.

And for the very first time he saw the woman behind the persona of Lady Heather, something he had never picked up on before. Behind her strong and guarded exterior, she hid her vulnerability. She must have hidden it well in the past. But not today. What he could glimpse at today in his office was Heather as the woman, the grand-mother and not the Dominatrix he used to know.

Is this what Grissom had seen in her for all these years? Why they had become friends despite their differences? Brass realised then that the two of them weren't actually that dissimilar at all. They both hid behind a seemingly impenetrable front but below the surface lurked an unmistakable humanity and warmth. Both their fronts hid well-concealed vulnerability. Brass had always wondered what had attracted his friend to her in the first place and had never really understood their relationship or the dynamics of their friendship. Until now.

There was no doubt that the disappearance of her grand-daughter had hit her hard. He could see that her hands were shaking, despite the fact that she had them clenched tightly around the purse's straps. She was holding it together. But only just.

Brass must have remained silent for too long, probably even openly stared at her for too long. She must have caught the fact that he had been conducting a visual survey, for she flashed a look of anger at him, reading him like an open book.

The next thing she said, startled him back to the situation in hand. "Captain Brass, please, I do not need your pity."

He gave a little shake of his head in an attempt to refocus his attention, giving her a small embarrassed laugh.

"I…I was hoping," she continued, "that we could put whatever differences we may have had in the past behind us and that they would not impede the investigation."

"I'm sorry. They won't, Heather." Brass offered her a genuine smile. "You have my word."

"Thank you. I appreciate that. I need you to find my grand-daughter. She is so young, so innocent, so precious…" She let her words trail, her eyes welling with unshed tears. She lowered her gaze and once more settled it on the hands folded on her purse. "Oh dear God!" she gasped, suddenly looking up, her face filling with fright, "what if she's fallen into the hands of a…"

"It's a real possibility," Brass cut in sympathetically. "I won't deny it and I can assure you that we're looking into it. However, these instances are still rare and there are other more obvious avenues we'd like to pursue first."

"She…she's the only thing I have left of Zoe" Lady Heather mumbled to no one in particular. She took out a handkerchief from her bag and dabbed at the corners of her eyes, letting this last piece of information filter in. She narrowed her eyes slightly, focus returning. "Who would want to take her? she asked. "Who would want to do her any harm?"

"I've been asking myself these exact same questions, Heather, that is if indeed Alison's been kidnapped," the captain said softly, reverting to detective mode. He paused briefly wondering how best to phrase the questions he needed to ask her. "I…I apologise in advance if what I'm going to ask you sounds callous but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't pursue every…"

"It's fine, captain," she interrupted. "You don't have to say more. I understand. I was in Summerlin visiting a patient."

_A patient?_ Brass wondered. _Oh that's right, Grissom did mention she was a sex therapist now._

He reached for the notebook in his jacket pocket on the back of the chair. "A home visit?" he inquired.

Lady Heather pursed her lips into a tight smile.

_Dumbass! Why did you go say that for? _Brass offered a placating hand. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. It's been a long day," he offered by way of an apology. "Let me start again. Can you provide me with his name and contact details?"

"Absolutely," she said with conviction, reaching into her purse for a business card that she positioned where she had previously placed Alison's picture on the desk. "_She_ will be happy to vouch for me. I was there from 3.30 to 6.00 pm."

Brass took the card and gave it a perfunctory glance. "Do you mind if I keep it?"

She shook her head in the negative.

"What about your ex-husband, Jerome?" he continued. "Could he have faked her abduction?"

"Jerome?" She shook her head emphatically. "No. It's not possible. Jerome and I have settled our differences and reached an amicable compromise. We share custody of Alison; we alternate weeks and our relationship is…friendly. The three of us even manage to spend time together when our schedules allow. You see, Jerome missed out on seeing Zoe grow up and…well, let's just say that Ali's too precious…he loves her too much to…to want to compromise that balance or her happiness."

"Fair enough," Brass said businesslike. "What about Alison's father? What's the story on him? Is he in the picture? From what I gather, Mr Kessler was rather elusive on the subject."

"Alison's father does not know of her existence," she stated categorically.

_Ah! I hit a nerve. _Brass arched an eyebrow, looking dubious. "Are you sure about that?"

Lady Heather remained silent, her gaze once more fixed on her hands clasping the purse on her lap.

"Do you know who he is?" Brass insisted. "Heather, please. What do you have to hide? It won't take me long to find out anyway, so you might as well save me the time and trouble."

She briefly closed her eyes and let out a resigned sigh, seemingly making her mind up. She lifted her eyes and locked them onto Brass. "His name's Alec Foster. Last I heard he…still lived on the East Coast. In Boston. He was Zoe's therapist when she studied at Harvard. As soon as I found out what he had done, I got his licence revoked. I don't know any more than that, I'm sorry."

Brass quickly jotted the name down in his notebook. "That's good. That's the first concrete lead we have so far. Sounds to me like motive. Somehow he found out about Alison and he wanted to meet her or he wanted some kind of revenge on you and got to you through her. Either way, I'll get Vartann to look into it," he concluded, setting the issue aside temporarily.

Lady Heather nodded her head once. "As you wish." She paused for a moment. "I know it's still early but can you update me on your progress as regards the investigation?" she asked.

"Certainly. We have a couple of witnesses who may have seen a man lurking around the playground. One of them told us that the man was so intent on watching Alison that she thought he was her father. Unfortunately, the man didn't act suspiciously so the lady didn't think anything of it."

"Did she provide you with a detailed description?"

"She did." Brass clearly hesitated and returned to his previous line of enquiry. "Would you know what Alison's father," he checked the man's name in his book, "this Alec Foster looks like?"

"No, I'm sorry. I never met the man, nor do I wish to."

"Okay," Brass said. "One more thing. Can you think of anybody that would want to target you or Jerome through Alison?"

Lady Heather took the time to think about the question. "I can't speak for Jerome; you'd have to talk to him about that but I expect," she said, slightly shrugging her shoulders, "considering my previous line of work that it is possible that someone might want to do me harm. But why now? Why wait? I sold the business more than two years ago."

"Well, you know, people…" Brass shrugged off the rest of his answer before continuing. "Please, would you think about it anyway?" Brass asked, easing a look at his watch.

Lady Heather gave a single nod of her head. "Of course."

The police captain reached into his bottom desk drawer and took out a couple of clear plastic evidence bags. "I'll take Alison's things off you and get them to CSI straightaway."

As Lady Heather removed Alison's toothbrush and hairbrush – which were already sealed into clear plastic freezer bags – from her purse and handed them to the police captain, she said, "Jerome and I have money. How about if we offered a reward for Ali's safe return or any information on her disappearance? Would that help?"

Brass's mouth pulled down in a facial shrug. "It might" Brass told her, placing the items still in their bags in the regulation evidence bags, "but the Amber Alert has only just gone out and we expect a strong response and for witnesses to come forward anyway. Our CSI's are still conducting door-to-door inquiries and looking into CCTV recordings. We've also added Alison onto the Missing Persons Database. If we still have no more leads in a couple of days we can discuss this idea again or even do a televised appeal. How would you feel about that?"

She shifted on her seat. "Anything, Mr Brass. I would do anything for the safe return of my grand-daughter."

As Lady Heather got up to leave Brass did the same. She paused for a second and held out her hand for Brass to shake_. _

_A truce. She's offering me a truce._

He smiled kindly at her, feeling her pain. He extended his arm out and shook her hand warmly. "I will do anything in my power to find her," he affirmed.

She nodded her head, offering him a sad smile. "Thank you."

She turned and made her way toward the door but hesitated and stopped with her hand clasping the door handle. She waited a minute, her back turned away from Brass who was busy sealing and labelling the two evidence bags.

When he sensed she was still in the room, he looked up just as she turned around to face him.

"Heather?" he inquired.

"Mmm…have you heard from Grissom? I'm aware he doesn't work for the crime lab anymore and…that he left to find…"

Brass nodded and gave her a friendly smile, cutting short her awkward attempt at inquiring about Grissom. "They've been back from Costa Rica for a couple of months now. Grissom's taken up a permanent post as a lecturer at Stanford University…"

The telephone rang from its place on the desk interrupting Brass. He glanced over at it with annoyance, hesitated for an instant – the call could be related to the case – and lifted his index finger indicating for Heather to wait while he answered the call. He moved over to pick up the receiver but when he looked her way again she had left.

_Despite all this she remains strong_, he thought. _I hope we can find her grand-daughter soon._

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Reviews and comments are welcomed and always greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: A big thank you to everyone for reading and for all the wonderful reviews. The pressure's on! And to thank you, I decided to post a little earlier than anticipated rather than a little late as real life's going to take over the week-end. Hope you enjoy and have a nice week-end!

* * *

As Vartann pulled into the restaurant's small parking lot he craned his neck to peer through the windshield to check he had the correct address. He quirked another eyebrow at the bright yellow neon light blinking on and off at him, shaking his head in mirth. 'The Pie Hole'; _Appropriately named, _he thought driving down the lot once, struggling to find a spot to park the Taurus. For this time of night, the place was strangely busy but fortunately he managed to snag a half-legal parking space near the front entrance.

He picked up his radio from the passenger seat, slipped it in his jacket pocket, wrenched the car door open and made his way inside the eatery. As he pushed the door open he removed his black notebook from his pocket to check the name of the woman that had called about yet another sighting of Alison and swiftly pocketed it again.

He had been doing that all evening. Ever since he had got back to PD from canvassing the vicinity of the park, he had been following 'leads' that the population of Las Vegas, meaning well of course – for the most part anyway – were calling in following the Amber Alert.

He let out a small sigh. _That's what I get paid for_, he reasoned.

It took a moment for his eyes to adapt to the bright artificial lighting of the interior of the restaurant, yet he managed a quick perfunctory scan of the place, which was buzzing with activity.

He quickly made his way to the long counter separating the main restaurant from the kitchens. As the waitress was busy preparing the check for a waiting customer he could only sway on his feet impatiently for her to finish, casting quick casual glances at his watch wondering whether he should order something to eat or not.

Eleven pm. He was famished. Would this call be another wild goose chase?

"Good evening Sir, how can I help you?" sang the waitress after a minute.

Vartann pulled his eyes from the menu on the wall and turned his attention to the waitress. His stomach would have to wait. "Hi," he said, flashing his police badge. "Are you Debbie Reynolds?"

The waitress's smile dropped. "No. Over there, behind the pillar. Short dark hair," she replied with a nod sideways.

Vartann followed her gaze down the restaurant to another waitress he hadn't previously noticed, probably concealed by the pillar. "Thanks," he said with a small smile.

"Debbie!" he heard bellowed as he made his way over. "This young man wants you."

Amused, Vartann shook his head and quickly reached Debbie. "Detective Vartann," he said, once again showing his badge. "Are you Debbie Reynolds?"

Debbie nodded. "Is this about the Amber Alert? You were quick."

"A little girl's missing, Mam. Is there somewhere quiet we might be able to talk?"

"Hector?" Debbie shouted toward the kitchens. "Can I take a ten-minute break? It's about that little girl that's missing."

Vartann didn't hear a reply but followed Debbie toward a booth at the back of the restaurant. She stopped on her way to take a freshly-brewed coffee pot and two cups from the counter.

"It'll be quieter round here," she said. "Coffee?"

Despite being on his feet for eight hours already, his night was still young and Vartann accepted gratefully. "Thank you."

"What do you want to know?" she asked, pouring them both some coffee as Vartann reached into his pocket for his pen and notebook.

"You live at 241 Pine Street?"

"That's right."

"Okay. Well, Debbie, I'm told you might have some information about Alison Kessler's disappearance."

"Is that her name? That's pretty. I didn't hear it. The sound of the TV's turned down low and I didn't catch all of the alert but I definitely recognised her from the picture. The rucksack, especially. Poor parents, they must be beside themselves."

"Anyway…" Vartann tried. "What can you tell me? Where did you see Alison?"

"I was leaving for work, I work evening shift as you can see, five pm to one am…"

"What time was that exactly?"

"Huh?"

"When you left for work?"

She shrugged slightly. "Same as usual. Around a quarter to five, I guess. Maybe a little later. I was running a bit late. Anyway, I had parked my car in the usual spot in the street directly opposite the house and as I got in the car, I noticed this big black truck parked in front of me. I remember thinking I'd not seen it before. Nice pick-up truck too. Late model. Real muddy. Anyway as I was pulling out of the space, this man arrives carrying this little girl in his arms. Didn't think anything of it at the time, but I recognised her as soon as I saw her on the screen because of her bag. I got my niece the exact same one two Christmases ago. From e-bay. A real bargain too."

The detective nodded, still scribbling down the last piece of information. "Can you tell me more about the man?"

"What do you want to know? I didn't really take a good look at him."

"Was he white? Tall?..." the detective asked, helping the answer along with a continuous wave of his hand.

"White, definitely. About your height, I guess. A little under six feet, maybe. He was a bit podgy round the side, slim across the shoulders, short greyish hair slicked back…a bit longer at the back. I didn't see his face clearly. The little girl was in the way you know?"

Vartann gave a slight nod. "How old would you say he was?"

"Dunno, really. Late fourties? More maybe? Hard to say really."

"Anything strike you about what was he wearing?"

"He was well dressed. Light brown pants. A jacket, I think. Can't recall anymore, sorry."

Vartann smiled for the first time in the last five hours. This confirmed the first witness statement. _At long last._ "That's great, Debbie. What about the truck? Can you tell me more about it?" the detective asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"It was black. Big. New. One of them with the double cabs."

"Any chance you saw the licence plate?"

She smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

"What about the make?"

"Japanese, I think. I remember thinking 'with this economy, why can't people buy American?' you know?"

Vartann smiled. "Which way was the truck facing? North or South?"

Debbie hesitated so Vartann clarified his question. "Was the truck parked toward East Sunset Road or away from it?"

"Away toward Post Road."

The detective jotted that down quickly. "Okay. I've got one more question for you."

"Fire away. Beats working," she said good-naturedly, taking another sip of her coffee. "I'm dead on my feet anyway."

_Yeah, so am I, _Vartann mused. "To go back to the rucksack, if you don't mind since you paid particular attention to it. Anything strike you as odd?"

"No, not really. It was one of them old-fashion ones that fastens with a buckle and _that_ was undone. She had it on her back. Apart from that…" she shrugged, letting her words trail.

"Okay. How did Alison appear?"

"Sorry," she replied with hesitation. "Don't understand what you mean."

"Was she crying? Struggling? Distraught?"

"Ah, no. She was calm. Now that you mention it though, you could say that she was almost subdued."

_Drugged maybe?_ "That's good," Vartann said. "Do you remember anything else?"

Debbie thought for a while and shook her head. "Sorry, I wish I'd paid more attention."

"You did great Debbie, thank you." Vartann reached into the left side of his jacket pocket and withdrew his card. "Here's a number you can reach me on if you remember anymore," he said, placing his card next to Debbie's cup of coffee. "Anything, however small. And thanks for the coffee."

"No problem." She replied with a smile, picking up the card to study it before getting up and putting it away in her uniform pocket.

"Actually, do you mind if I finish my coffee before I go? I need to make a call."

"Sure," Debbie replied. "Would you like a slice of pie with it?"

Vartann cocked an eyebrow. "Apple?"

Debbie nodded with a smile.

"That'd be great," he answered, stifling a yawn.

* * *

Meanwhile…

"Hey, sweetie, you're awake?" the man asked when he noticed the little girl stirring from her slumber. "Did you have a good sleep?"

Alison blinked a few times, sleepily rubbed her eyes and straightened-up away from the man, hesitantly peering up at him. She frowned. "I don't know you," she exclaimed, moving further back. "Who are you and where's my grandpa?" She asked a little louder, looking around her with confusion. "I want my mama."

The man placed his hand across her shoulders. "Hey, don't be scared," he soothed in a soft voice, "I'm a friend of your…mama's. I know all about you." He grinned at her. "Are you hungry?"

"I don't know you," she repeated indignantly. "My grandpa says never to talk or accept anything from strangers."

"And he's absolutely right, sweetie but I'm not a stranger, am I?" he told Alison, "I've known your mama for a long time, years in fact."

Alison thought about that for a little while. "Who are you then and how come I've never met you?"

The man hesitated. "Well," he paused to think how best to phrase his reply and settled on, "why don't we say you just call me Daddy?"

"I don't have a daddy," Alison replied, quick as a flash. "Where are we?" she asked, "I've never been here before."

"We're going somewhere safe. We're going to my house. And you'll see there's even a room for you there."

Alison tried to wriggle free from his hold but the man increased his pressure on her shoulder. "I want to see my grandpa and my mama. When are they coming to get me?" she asked, becoming upset.

The man rubbed her on the shoulder in a comforting manner. "You'll see them soon, don't worry. You're staying with me for a little while."

Alison looked around her, licking her very dry and sore lips. "I'm thirsty," she whined.

"I tell you what. I've got some water in my bag. Would you like some water?" the man inquired.

The little girl gave a shy nod of her head. The man reached into a plastic bag and took out a bottle of water. He held it out to her, giving her a friendly wink. "Why don't I get you something to eat too. Are you hungry?"

Alison took the bottle from him and drank some water straight from it, nodding her assent to the food at the same time and spilling some water onto her top in the process. When she finished drinking she asked, "Then, will I be able to see my mama, please?"

The man took the bottle from her, distractingly nodding his head at her request. That seemed to placate her. "Never mind," he added when he noticed Alison wiping the water off her top, "I'll get you a new one, okay?"

"Okay," the little girl agreed with a small smile.

* * *

Crime Lab. 2.30 am.

Catherine was bent over the table in the A/V lab, staring at the enlarged copy of the map of South East Vegas spread in front of her, where Sunset Park was located. Greg had produced the overlay she was currently studying where he had drawn in blue the route he had followed with the dogs leading away from the park, down East Sunset Road with a left turn onto Pine Street for a hundred yards or so all the way up to St Mary's church. Most probably, the route the kidnapper had walked too.

Catherine looked up from the map and closed her eyes for an instant in an attempt at concentrating her thoughts.

_According to the witness, the perp left in a black truck._ _Where has the truck gone on to afterwards? _The lead CSI on the case wondered.

She returned her attention to the map and then moved onto the crime scene photographs and sketches, letting her mind wander. _Aside from the random or impulsive predator – a paedophile for instance – the kidnapper would have to have a reason, some concrete motive for wanting Alison. No demand for ransom has been made. Yet. Financial gain remains a strong possibility. A personal grudge against Heather or Jerome Kessler? A former client? Alec Foster? Many questions about Alison's biological father still need to be answered. It appears that the little girl hasn't put up a fight. Was she drugged? Did she know her abductor? I find it hard to picture either Heather or Jerome guilty of her abduction. What would they gain from that? _

_There had to be something more out there. Come on Catherine, what are you missing?_

Catherine unconsciously let out a weary drawn-out sigh.

When he heard Catherine's sigh Ray turned round toward his boss. "What's wrong Catherine?" Ray asked from his work station, removing his glasses in order to rub his sore eyes.

For the last five hours, he and Archie had been silently watching endless video footage in the hope of catching a glimpse of their suspect. A man carrying a little girl. The first woman's description had been precise enough but their search had not yielded anything apart from one visual sighting of the suspect carrying a sleepy-looking Alison on East Sunset Road confirming what the first two witnesses had told them but not giving them anything more.

Vartann's call over three hours ago had narrowed things down slightly as they now also knew what kind of vehicle they were looking for so they had started again and viewed all the tapes for a second time but unfortunately as Pine Street itself was part of a residential area the CSI's hadn't been able to find any CCTV or traffic cameras covering it. The best they had got was a traffic camera located at the intersection of Pine Street and East Sunset Road a hundred yards down the road as well as the local McDonald's parking lot's CCTV on East Patrick Lane, a mile further north.

Catherine either didn't hear Ray's question or refused to acknowledge that indeed something was wrong because she remained silent, her next words coming another full minute afterward.

"Okay," Catherine said, feigning an enthusiasm in her voice she was far from feeling. "Let's recap. So, we've got the suspect emerging on foot from the park onto East Sunset Road at 4.40 pm. He's carrying Alison. She looks asleep. We know it's them because of the backpack but we can't get a good look at his face."

"Correct," Ray agreed thoughtfully.

"Then," Catherine continued, "he turns right and walks for two minutes or so down to the intersection. He crosses the street, seemingly going onto Pine Street but we have no evidence of that – just Debbie Reynolds's statement. So he gets to his truck." Catherine stopped, closed her eyes to picture the scene and resumed. "Vartann said Debbie thought the truck was pointing north," Catherine said after a while. "Unless he made a U-turn and drove back toward East Sunset Road…"

"There's not been a single black pick-up truck, like the one the witness described, past that camera in either direction between three and five pm," Archie interrupted, "lots of pick-up trucks but no black ones. I'm positive and I watched the tape twice to be sure. He would have had to drive past to get parked up…"

"Unless he came from a side street or north," Catherine continued. "Okay. Let's assume – I know Ray I told you never to assume anything but just for now" she said with a smile in response to Ray's questioning glance, "so, let's assume he put Alison in the back of the truck. Debbie said Alison looked subdued, not asleep anymore. If she was drugged, the suspect would have to be worried the effect was wearing off and be in a hurry. The last thing he wants is a screaming child on his hands, not when he knows the parents have most probably realised she's missing by now and raised the alarm."

"Although once in the truck," Archie cut in, "he's almost home."

Ray continued with Catherine's train of thought, ignoring Archie's comment. "So, you're thinking, he's going to take the quickest way out of the area. His truck's pointing north. What have we got that way?"

"For one, McCarran, looming large in the distance," Catherine replied. "Then the rest of Vegas," she added with a sigh. "There's always those tapes from the McDonald's parking lot over at the junction of East Patrick Lane with South Eastern Avenue," Catherine said relaying the information from the map. "Is that what you're looking at Ray?"

"Yes, it is," he replied with a sigh, "for the second time and I can't see anyone or any black trucks matching their description."

Catherine moved from her position to stand slightly behind Ray, peering over his shoulder at his screen. They had been watching thefast-moving images on the screen for about a minute when Catherine suddenly shouted. "Stop there!"

Ray froze the frame.

"Back up a little Ray, would you?" Catherine told Ray who did her bidding. The images flashed backwards in front of them in slow motion. "Stop!" Catherine said urgently. _5.02 pm,_ she noticed. _Fits the timeline._ "What's that?" she asked Ray as Archie moved from his work station to stand next to them.

Ray narrowed his eyes at the screen. "Where? I can't see anything."

"There," Catherine told him, pointing to a partial sighting of a truck at the top right-hand corner of the screen. They had a distant side shot of it. Ray turned his head, eyebrows raised quizzically at her.

"I know, a bit of a long shot" she acknowledged with a slight shrug of her shoulders, "but that's better than anything else we've got!"

Ray resumed staring at the grainy picture. "What kind of truck is that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes to peer at the picture. He then tapped a few keys and a blurry close-up of the truck filled the screen. "Ford? Dodge maybe?" he wondered aloud.

"Debbie said in her statement that she thought the truck was Japanese," Catherine interjected.

"I know," Archie said. "My dad's got one of them. Much older model though but he's been looking to upgrade. This one looks brand new. Mitsubishi Raider."

"Are you sure?" Ray asked. "It doesn't look any different to any other pick-up trucks I know."

"Yep," replied Archie with conviction. "I recognise the alloys and the shape of the crew cab and look, you can just about make out 'Raider' etched into the wing under all the dirt."

"So we may have the get-away vehicle. Too bad we don't have a view of the plates. What about the driver? Can you enhance the picture?"

"Let's see," Archie stepped in, taking over from Ray. "Let me adjust the contrast and the tone and see if I can clear some of the pixilation." After a little tweaking, he shook his head. "Sorry, that's the best I can do. You can definitely see 'Raider' on the side though." Catherine agreed as Archie continued, "he's probably got tinted windows, that's why the inside's so dark."

"What about the back of the cab? Can we see any evidence of Alison?" asked Ray.

"Well, she's not tall enough unless he put her in a car seat," Archie said.

"I doubt he'd have wasted time doing that," Catherine mused. "Damn! What else have we got?" Catherine asked rhetorically. _Nothing. __A big fat zero._ She let out a long sigh and rubbed the back of her neck, shutting her eyes tiredly. "So we know the truck drove on East Patrick Lane heading east, but where did it go next?"

Ray moved to consult the map. "If he drove straight ahead at the intersection, he went directly to McCarran or if he turned right, he headed north onto South Eastern Avenue towards downtown Vegas. I doubt he would have turned left as that would have taken him back towards the park but I'll check anyway."

"Okay," Catherine acknowledged. "Let's rule out McCarran first and then concentrate on a wider search radius." She turned to Ray. "Ray, can you see if we can get access to the traffic cameras over at the junction of Tropicana and South Eastern Avenue? I know for a fact that there's a camera there. We used its recording last week. Archie, have we got the tapes from the airport yet?"

"No," Archie replied. "Greg's not back with them yet."

"He is now," Greg's voice chirped from behind them a little breathlessly. "I've got them. All _five_ of them. They wanted me to view them there and then but our lab's better equipped. So I politely declined."

Greg positioned himself at the last available workstation and loaded one of the tapes into the machine. "I've got footage from the long and short term parking lots' entrances," he added, "as well as the main entrance and airlines desks. If they're there, they're bound to be on one of these tapes somewhere. The security teams there have been on the look-out all evening and are still on full alerts although the airport's quieter this time of night. They're adamant they haven't seen anyone matching their description."

"That's good. Greg, concentrate your search on a black Mitsubishi…" Catherine said, hesitating.

"Raider," Archie filled in.

"…Raider after 5.00 pm."

"On it," Greg said.

"How would he get her on the plane though?" asked Archie, "without raising suspicion."

"Same way he got her out of the park," Brass retorted from the door. "So what have we got?"

"Nothing much yet," Catherine told the detective moving back behind her desk. "We're clutching at straws."

"Come on Catherine," Brass said kindly, "that's not like you."

"You're right. But I'm so damn frustrated. All we've got is a sighting of _a_ Mitsubishi Raider that matches Debbie Reynolds's description down to the mud. There," she said, circling the place on the map and annotating it with the time, "but no licence plates or visual of inside the cab. Inconclusive and circumstantial at best. And we've got hours more of tapes to sift through."

"Okay," Brass said. They had got leads in the past on a lot less. "Now, for what I've got. Vartann's checked the list of registered paedophiles in the vicinity of the park and there's _only_ two. One who's listed for his interest in young boys and the other one likes young teenage girls. He's got hold of the first one who's got an alibi that checks out and the second one," he consulted his notes, "one Raymondo Lopez who's not answering his door. We've got a uniform parked outside the house," Brass finished, replacing his notebook in his jacket pocket. He moved next to Catherine and peeked at the map with interest. "What about Nick? What's he got from the scene?"

"Not much, unfortunately," Catherine replied. "He's gone out to process the 402 at UNLV. Mandy's running the prints we lifted from the toys through AFIS. Only a couple of them are clear adult ones, the others small size – probably Alison's – smudges or partials. The sand's destroyed a lot of the definition and ridges, I'm afraid. They're not Kessler's though, so that's something."

Brass nodded his agreement. "Could be the perp's."

Catherine continued with her update. "Riley's still working on the shoeprints Nick lifted. She reckons man's size 11. Not Jerome Kessler's, he's a 9, so again could be our man's shoeprints. Also, a lot of the parents present at the park were mothers."

"Okay. What about the teddy bear?" Brass asked.

"Ah, well, I wish he could tell us a bed time story," Catherine replied with a sigh, "preferably one with a happy ending. But he's keeping schtum too." _Much like most of our evidence._

"Wow! Hang on! Let's not be all doom and gloom just yet," Greg exclaimed. "Look what I've got here." Greg proceeded to feed his picture onto the big screen on the wall, for all to view.

It was a distant but fairly clear shot of a black Mitsubishi Raider pick-up truck entering the long-term parking lot at McCarran.

"5.15 pm," Brass said pointing to the right bottom corner of the screen. "That fits with the timeline."

"Greg," Catherine said, visibly perking up, "can you play on and see if we can get a better view of the licence plate?"

Greg did as Catherine asked and then froze the picture. The angle made the registration number hard to identify.

"Can we see inside the truck? Can we get a clear view of the driver?" Catherine asked. "Or a better look of the front plates," Catherine insisted. _Come on, this is our best evidence so far._

Greg altered the image slightly.

"Still no good," Catherine said. "Can you get rid of the glare?"

"Sorry, that's the best I can do," Greg said, just as Brass's cell-phone rang. The captain swiftly stepped out of the A/V lab to take the call.

""Hang on, I think there's another camera at the opposite corner of the access ramp to the parking lot. Just give me sec, so I can cue it up."

"Here," Greg exclaimed after a few minutes. "Nevada plates. 51… What's that?" Greg asked, "a 6?"

"More like an 8," replied Archie.

"518 – TEQ," read Greg.

"Okay," Archie said. "Let's see who it's registered to."

He entered the licence plate number in the DMV database just as Brass stepped back in the lab calling out, "Dispatch got a call from security at McCarran. They've spotted a man that matches our suspect's description. He's got a little girl with him, similar age but different clothes. They were in line queuing up to board the next flight to Philadelphia via New York. Vartann's unavailable so I told dispatch to notify them of our arrival and not to apprehend. They'll hold the flight if necessary. I need one of you, so who's with me?"

"I am," replied both Catherine and Greg at the same time.

* * *

Tbc.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I don't think TPTB give Brass enough airtime so this is all about him. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

McCarran airport. 3.35 am.

As Brass's Taurus pulled up outside the airport entrance with a squeal of tyres, stopping behind a couple of patrol cruisers already waiting at the curb, red and blue lights flashing in the cool breezy night, the captain was closely followed by the crime lab's Denali. Catherine was at the wheel with Greg riding shotgun. With no time to spare, he rushed out of his car and ran into the airport departure hall. There, an airport security officer hurried to greet him and after a very brief exchange with the man Brass set off at a jogging pace. He never stopped to explain to either his men or the CSI's that they were heading to Terminal one.

"Have you ever seen Brass run like this before?" Greg asked Catherine, trying to keep up with the police captain.

"No," she retorted slightly breathless. "But this is not _any_ case, is it? This one's special and time's running out."

They raced through the many halls, corridors and departure lounges until they reached Gate A of Terminal one where they were met by the head of airport security and three of his men. Brass quickly identified himself to the man.

"Captain," the head of security greeted Brass with a quick nod of his head, "our man is Paul Smith, travelling with" he consulted the list of passengers, "Vanessa Smith. They've been allocated seat A and B row 56."

Brass took the copy of the passenger manifesto the head of airport security was holding out to him and gave it a perfunctory glance.

"We thought it best to let the passengers board the plane as normal," the head of security informed him, "so as not to lose the suspect or arouse suspicion. The guy went through all security checks unnoticed so we thought he wouldn't pose a threat."

Brass slowly shook his head in disbelief. _Is this man for real?_ His irritation was obvious. "Didn't you circulate the missing child's photo to all security points like we asked you to?" he asked impatiently. "How could they have made their way to the gate without anybody picking up on them?"

The head of security shrugged his shoulders, looking uncomfortable under all the scrutiny.

Brass rolled his eyes. Now wasn't the time for reprimands so he let it go and changed tack. They had their suspect, which was all that mattered. "How many passengers on board?" he asked.

"Three hundred and one. The plane's a triple seven with three classes."

Brass let out a resigned sigh. "Jesus," he mumbled, "that many? at this time of night?" Then he closed his eyes briefly in an attempt to gather his thoughts. After a slight nod of his head to himself, he snapped his eyes open and looked at the people assembled round him. "Okay," he said in a calm voice, "I'm not taking any chances here. So regardless of the fact we know where our guy's seating, we're still going to search the whole plane. He's probably got suspicious now that the plane's been delayed and he may have looked for ways to conceal himself or the child. Remember, we want this to go as smoothly as possible. There are a lot of people on that plane – a lot of potential witnesses. Let's not give the frenzied media any more fodder than necessary." He took a breath. "Any questions?" he finally asked. When none were forthcoming, he looked at each of his people in turn in the eye and said, "Let's go."

As they reached the final walkway leading onto the aircraft, Brass got out a blown-up version of the picture of Alison Heather had brought in the previous evening, and passed it round. The head of security produced copies of a still shot from a security camera which the police captain, his officers and CSI's took a minute to study. The quality of the image was grainy and poor and depicted a man and a young girl – which had been circled round in felt – among a large crowd of people. Not very clear and much to work from but the man's clothing and description seemed to match.

"Keep an eye out for Alison," Brass said. "She'll be easier to identify than the man."

As Brass pocketed Alison's photograph, he took charge of the search. As soon as they had boarded the plane, he asked to speak to the flight attendant.

An older woman stepped forward.

"Pamela," Brass said, checking her nametag, "I'm going to need your help," he told her with a pinched smile. "I need you to keep the passengers calm while we conduct our search, okay? And can you let the rest of your people know?"

Pamela nodded.

"Also, can you tell me if the bathrooms are currently being used?"

"No, no. Not while we're still on the ground," she replied.

"Are you sure?"

The flight attendant hesitated.

"Would you double check please? It's important," he told her. "Also can you make sure all the passengers are in their seat?" Pamela nodded her head in reply. "You," he said turning his head to address two of his uniformed officers, "go with her."

Pamela and the two officers promptly set off.

"Catherine," Brass then said. Catherine stepped forward. "Take one of the PD officers and take first class? And if you find him, notify me and don't do anything until I get to you. Greg, same for you but take business class, okay?"

"That's not fair," Greg muttered under his breath. "Why does she get to fly first class?"

"I'll take Economy," continued Brass, "and you three," he said addressing the airport security officers, "can each of you join one of us?"

They waited for Pamela and the officers to return to the front of the plane. "Restrooms are all clear, captain" one officer informed Brass.

"Do you think you could turn the overhead lights on full, please?" he asked Pamela who nodded her reply. "Well, let's get started," he told the others. "And let's not jump the gun when we get our man. We've still got to properly ID him."

They all moved away to their respective section of the aeroplane. Brass quickly made his way toward the middle of the aircraft where economy class started. Once there, he advanced very slowly, row by row, meticulously scanning every single person, every single face, thoroughly checking the foot wells, alternating between his left and his right.

Passengers clearly concerned about the unexpected turn of events were asking questions, wondering, muttering, and complaining about what was so important that had the flight delayed. Some were on their cell phone relaying the upheaval to their families and friends. Brass tried his best to ignore the complaints and let the flight attendants handle the explaining, reassuring and cajoling but most importantly the smiling.

When he got to the thirtieth row, adrenaline pumping, the police captain stopped abruptly and took out the print-out image from the airport's security camera and studied it carefully. As the overhead lighting was poor and sweat was running down his face, clouding his vision he had to narrow his eyes to get a clear view. Satisfied that he had the wrong man he resumed his search without delay.

As he got near the back of the plane and they still hadn't located their suspect or Alison, Brass grew visibly more frustrated.

_Damn airport security! Can they have had this wrong?_

One more look to his right was all it took. Brass checked the row number. Row 56. And there he was, the man from the photo. There was no doubt about it. It was him. Brass's gaze flitted to the man's left. A little girl matching Alison Kessler's description was sound asleep, her head resting on the suspect's shoulder and curled up on her herself. Brass's heart skipped a beat as he did a double take, quickly reaching for Alison's photo from his pocket to make sure. He turned round and quickly but discreetly motioned with a nod of his head toward the suspect for his officer to approach and stand guard.

"Sir," Brass said flashing his badge, "Captain Brass, LVPD. Would you come with me, please?"

The man, who hadn't been paying much attention to what was happening, looked up from his copy of Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code, visibly startled. He frowned in confusion. As he gingerly turned round to look behind him unsure whether Brass had been addressing him or not, the police captain bent down to take a better look at the sleeping little girl.

"Are you talking to me?" asked the man, pointing a finger at his chest for clarification.

"Please, Sir," Brass repeated calmly with a tight smile, "let's not make a scene. I just want a quick word."

"The Police?" the man asked. "What's all this about? I haven't done anything wrong; I'm not moving from my seat," the man stated defiantly in a loud voice.

The little girl started to stir. "Daddy?" she said drowsily.

"Please, Sir?" Brass asked again, holding out an open palm toward the front of the plane.

The little girl spoke again. "Daddy, can I go for a pee?"

"In a minute, sweetie, alright?" replied the man, turning to his left to offer his _alleged_ daughter a reassuring smile.

_Daddy? Could this man be Alec Foster by any chance travelling with a fake ID?_ Brass leaned toward the little girl. "Hello," Brass said softly, "what's your name?"

The little girl quickly turned away from Brass, burrowing her face in the crook of her arm. Brass noted that her clothes were different from what Alison had been wearing when she had disappeared but her age, size, body built and hair-colouring all matched.

The police captain turned his attention back to the man. "Is this your daughter?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Is she your daughter?" Brass repeated more forcefully, quickly losing his cool.

"What do you mean? Of course she's my daughter," the man shouted, with obvious confusion. "What's all this about?"

"Do you own a black Mitsubishi pick-up truck? Registration," Brass consulted his notes, "518 – TEQ."

"No," the suspect answered categorically and then seemed to hesitate. "Well, I…"

Brass was trying his hardest to keep his voice low so as not to alarm the little girl or the passengers more than necessary but his temper and impatience were getting the better of him. "What do you mean? Yes or no?" he said through gritted teeth.

The man looked around him in complete bafflement. "I don't understand what you're driving at. Why are you picking on me?" Then panic seemed to course through him as he stammered, "Was I involved in a road accident? Is that what this is about? Oh my God! Did I flee the scene of an accident? I'm not saying I did but inadvertently…"

Brass cut in. "Just answer the question."

The man looked at Brass as if he had just fallen out of a tree. "Huh?"

"The truck. Is it yours?" the captain demanded to know, wiping the sweat from his brow.

The man nervously ran a hand through his hair. "No, I…It's a friend's."

"A friend's," Brass repeated exasperatedly.

"Please, detective," the man continued, looking worried. "Can you just explain what you want with us …am I in trouble?"

Brass had an instant of doubt. _Either the guy is a damn good liar or we're barking up the wrong tree. _He let out a long sigh. "Sir, could you show me some ID?" he asked in a calmer voice, glancing up just as Catherine joined him.

"Sure, in my coat pocket in the over-head bin," the man replied with renewed confidence.

"Can you please get it?" Brass asked, leaning towards the little girl who was taking a worried peek at her father through her fingers. "It's going to be alright," he told her, with a smile. "My name's Jim. What's your name?"

The little girl remained silent, shying away from Brass. "Catherine," Brass said, nodding his head toward the girl in a silent plea for her to give it a try. The female CSI might have more success in reaching out to her.

Catherine stepped forward and sat down in the seat the man had vacated. "What's your name, sweetheart?" Catherine whispered in a light tone. "My name's Catherine." The young girl was still curled up on herself.

Meanwhile, the man was desperately rifling through his coat pockets trying to locate his ID under Brass's watchful gaze.

"We're looking for a little girl who's gone missing," Catherine continued warmly, "a little girl who looks just like you."

The man held out his driver's licence for Brass to check. "What? The girl from the Amber Alert?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "You think that Vanessa is…" The man's bafflement turned to anger. "This is fucking unbelievable," he shouted. "Do you see that?" he asked turning toward the main body of the plane to address the rest of the passengers, "this is police harassment."

Brass wearily rubbed his face before studying the man's ID. Meanwhile, the young girl shyly looked up towards Catherine who smiled her biggest smile at her in reassurance.

"Everything's all right, sweetheart" Catherine told her and then, "Jim," she called, turning toward Brass, "it's not her."

"What?"

"It's not her," she repeated, her voice low. "Look at her eyes."

"Shit," Brass muttered angrily. _Shit, shit, shit!_ "If it's not them, then where the hell are they?"

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Poor Brass! Thank God his _buddy_ is coming soon.

As usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter so don't hesitate to share!


	6. Chapter 6

Crime Lab. Catherine's office. 6 pm the next day.

Catherine had decided to come in early for shift in order to review Alison Kessler's file. Was there something probative they were overlooking? She locked her office door from the inside so not as to be disturbed and sat down at her desk. A large cup of strong coffee in hand, she gingerly opened the file, spread all the crime scene photos, sketches, field notes on her desk and began poring over every single scrap of evidence.

_Fresh eyes_, she thought to herself without much conviction, drowning the remnants of her coffee in an attempt to offset the lethargy and kick into high gear again. The meagre four-hour sleep she had managed to catch in the afternoon hadn't succeeded in refreshing her at all.

After the previous night's fiasco, she and Greg had made their way back to the lab in silence and somewhat deflated. Almost immediately upon their return though, Catherine had had to send Greg and Riley out on a hit-and-run and found that Nick hadn't been back from his scene. She had spent the remainder of shift helping Ray and Archie back in the A/V lab, hours spent viewing all available traffic tapes leading north along South Eastern Avenue.

No hits. Nothing. Not even a shadow of the truck. The trail had well and truly run cold.

Catherine let out a long sigh, thinking back to the events that had occurred at the airport. She was concerned for Brass, worried he was taking this case far too much to heart; far too personally. When he had pulled his people out of the plane and gone back to PD with his tail between his legs, he hadn't been able to disguise the embarrassment and disappointment he was feeling. And as usual, he had tried to dismiss it with a "hey! All in a day's work, right?" small shrug but hadn't fooled anyone.

Granted the security team at McCarran had messed up big time but the police captain had acted rather out of character when he had, to all intent and purposes, _stormed_ the plane – as sadly the media had labelled it. It was true that he was under immense pressure, tugged as he was in every direction to find Alison. She had never seen Brass flustered before – embarrassed even – but even Catherine couldn't deny that he had misjudged the situation and she was sure he would have to take the flack for it.

Sighing, Catherine closed her eyes and shook her head in an attempt to pull her thoughts away from her friend and back to the case. Surely if she dug deep enough she would find something, anything even remotely pertinent.

_Maybe I should get Hodges to look at it, _she thought with an amused chuckle.

Using her hand to prop her head, her elbow resting on the table, she started reading through the various labs' results that had been added to the file during the day. Hodges had found no significant trace evidence from the teddy bear. From the only two clear adult prints she had been able to work with, Mandy had isolated a thumb print on the bucket's handle. Neither fingerprint matched anybody known in AFIS. The shoeprints were a size eleven; they had eliminated sneakers, boots and anything else compiled in their database. It was probably from men's loafers but even that was only one of Riley's more educated guesses.

A telephone message from Vartann, that had been attached to the file, informed her that the paedophile line of inquiry had also drawn a blank as Raymondo Lopez had had a very solid alibi to explain his whereabouts when he had eventually returned to his house: he had spent the afternoon in a holding cell at central booking for a minor misdemeanour.

After the initial numerous calls following the Amber Alert where sightings of Alison were reported in all corners of Vegas, the phone lines had got quiet and the information – genuine or not – had tapered off.

And there she had it. All in front of her. The entire file. And it still held no answers.

As far as she was concerned, the crime lab had done as much as it could with what little evidence they had and it was now up to Brass and his detectives to continue with their last remaining line of enquiry: Alec Foster, Alison's biological father. She hated to admit it but Alison had been missing for just over twenty-four hours now and despite their best effort, their side of the investigation had already ground to a halt. And unless they found some new evidence soon Catherine feared that they might not find Alison at all. Or worse.

Catherine drank the last drabs of her coffee. _I wonder what Grissom would do now._ _Heck! I wonder if Grissom's heard about this_ _at all_. She then looked at her watch. 6.30 pm. Nick and the rest of the team would be in soon. Ray had the night off. As she stretched her arms over her head, her stomach rumbled reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since her breakfast with Lindsey. She got up from her desk, gathered all the case documents into the file and proceeded to the break room where she treated herself to a quick bowl of soup before shift started and she would have to give out assignments.

Rinsing her bowl, she heard the shrill ringing of her cell phone. She quickly dried her hands and pulled the phone from her pocket, smiling at the name displayed on the screen.

"Jim," she said without preamble, "I was just thinking about you."

"Nice thoughts, I hope," he replied, "I need all the positive energy I can get."

"No luck on locating Foster?"

"Well, actually, yeah. That's what I'm calling about. Vartann's bringing him in…"

"Wow, hang on!" Catherine barked into the phone interrupting his flow. "I thought you said he lived in Boston."

"He does," replied Brass. "But after many hours on the phone to our counterparts in Massachusetts, Vartann got wind that our man had left Boston's cold shores and had boarded a plane to sunny Vegas, of all places."

"Convenient," Catherine mused aloud.

"My thoughts exactly. Vartann tracked down his wife. Well, actually, his soon-to-be ex-wife, and she was very forthcoming with information. Anyway, he's been here all week staying at the Monte Carlo."

"Nice," she commented. "Did Vartann managed to get a description of the guy?"

"He did. But after last night's debacle, I'm not taking any chances with flimsy descriptions. He's bringing him in for questioning as we speak and I need you to do your stuff. So are you in?"

"You bet I am. Vartann's conducting the interview?"

"No. He's beat. He's worked two and a half shifts non-stop so I'm sending him home. Why?"

"No reason," she told him, thinking that the captain sounded tired himself and was taking more than a vested interest in the case. "Jim," she inquired after a while as he remained silent, "are you all right?"

"Sure I'm okay," he said, trying a little too hard to sound casual. "Why shouldn't I be?" he asked rhetorically. He paused for a split second and reverted to the truth. "I'm just a little cranky and still reeling from last night, that's all. And I've been up too long."

"Didn't you go home at all?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll ride this out. I managed to catch a little shut-eye on the couch in my office earlier on."

"Okay," she said hesitantly. There was something bugging him, she could tell from the edge in his voice. "Jim, what's up?"

"There's no pulling wool over your eyes, is there?" he said in good humour. Catherine could even picture the weary smile on his face. "I've been thinking about this…case and I can't help thinking that we're not dealing with a straightforward kidnapping here. There's too little evidence, no signs of a struggle, no ransom demand; the guy must have planned this carefully and targeted Alison. I don't think this was random or opportunistic. But why?"

"You fancy Foster for this?"

"He has motive and he's in Vegas," he replied, "but I'm not jumping the gun, not this time. Besides, Heather's closets must be full of skeletons too. So, I'm keeping an open mind."

"Good. Well, just give me time to grab my kit, call Nick in to man the fort and I'm on my way."

* * *

No sooner had Brass hung up from calling Catherine than he caught sight of Ecklie popping his head round his door. _What now!_ he thought. He continued gathering the loose sheets of Alison Kessler's case file scattered all over his desk, not bothering to look up.

After a while in silence, Brass turned his head toward the doorway with a questioning glance, finding the under-sheriff intently watching the muted news coverage on the television. "What can I do for you, Conrad?" Brass asked with a forced lightness as the mere sight of the man made his blood boil.

Ecklie slowly turned his head to look at Brass. He was hovering at the threshold, not quite daring to come in, his arm casually resting on the doorframe. When he eventually spoke, his tone was curt and unpleasant. "I've had the Sheriff _and_ the media on my back all afternoon wanting updates I can't give them," he said with a nod toward the muted TV. "Tell me you've got something, Jim. I need something to feed him and the sharks."

Brass let out a very long sigh through his nose. All he wanted was to go home for a little peace and quiet and a large glass of single malt. All he was getting instead was grief.

He eyed with envy the bottom drawer of his desk where he kept the whisky bottle. He shook his head to dispel the temptation and glared at the under-sheriff. "Listen, Conrad," he said through his teeth a bit louder than he intended to, trying as he was to contain his growing frustration and anger. He paused, closed his eyes and taking a deep breath through his nose, he muttered, "Now's not a good time."

"Jim, come on," Ecklie persisted in a sycophantic tone. "You've got to do better than that." Ecklie's attention was once again drawn to the flickering images on the TV. "Don't think I haven't heard about last night's…how can I put it?…fuck up."

And just to prove his point, Ecklie stepped into Brass's sanctuary, casting a quick eye around the place whilst heading to pick up the remote from the captain's desk. He swiftly turned the volume on the TV up and Paula Francis's voice filled the room, _"…numerous witnesses prepared to comment on the unorthodox methods used by the LVPD in the search for missing five-year-old Alison Kessler during the storming of flight 7486. Here is part of a cell phone video recording from one of the passengers on the flight…"_

Brass strode round his desk and angrily snatched the remote from Ecklie's hand to switch the TV off.

The movement startled Ecklie. "The truth's too close to home, huh, Jim?" he commented snidely. "Have you prepared a statement yet?"

Brass lifted his brow but gave no reply. _Smug bastard, _he thought as he rubbed his forehead and silently counted to ten in an effort to curb his rising temper. _I'm sure I remember Grissom say that worked for him in the past_. His energy would be better spent in the interrogation room with Alec Foster.

"For the Press? A public apology?" Ecklie supplied.

"I'm leaving that to you, Conrad. Isn't that the part of the job you love and do best?" Brass retorted. "And anyway, not that I need to justify my actions to you but I was following a lead," Brass snapped, his voice gradually getting louder and louder. "The airport security messed up. Not me or my department." There was no point arguing with Ecklie – the guy was so oily it was like water off a duck's back** – **yet Brass knew that it was in his best interest to start on some damage limitation and to play nice and placate the man, if only to make his life easier. "Vartann's bringing the girl's biological father in for questioning," he said in a calmer voice. "We'll see where that takes us. Do you think that'll be enough to feed the Sheriff? Or do you want my hide too?"

"Make sure you don't botch this up, Jim or you'll have me to answer to," the under-sheriff warned – or was it a threat? – with a fake smile. He turned his back on Brass and left without another word.

_Asshole! _

Brass flopped down onto his chair, rubbing his head vigorously with both hands and then leaned back, fingers laced at the back of his head, looking up to the ceiling in an attempt at calming down. Not very successfully. He remained in that position until Vartann's voice wafted in from the corridor. Only then did he turn his head to peer through the glass wall; Alec Foster was being walked into an interrogation room. Brass was about to get up to join them when the phone on his desk rang.

"What now!" he shouted as he picked up the receiver. "Brass," he barked into the phone.

"Sir? I've got Heather Kessler on line two for you. She says it's urgent. Shall I put her through?"

He sighed. "Yes, thanks." The line went dead for an instant as he was being connected. "Heather?" he inquired as he heard the tell-tale click. "What can I do for you? You caught me at a bad time I'm afraid."

"This won't take long," Heather replied sounding hoarse. "I…I need you to come to my house…if you would."

Brass glanced at his watch. "Can it…wait an hour?" he asked her hesitantly. "There is really something I must do first."

"That's fine. It's not going anywhere."

"Is…is everything all right? You sound…off, upset even. Have you had some news about Alison?"

"No. Not exactly," she replied in a low voice. "Well, maybe."

Unfortunately, Brass didn't hear Heather's last words as he got distracted by movement in his doorway. He looked up to see Vartann hovering at the open door motioning to him that Foster was ready for questioning. Brass nodded and then quickly wound up the call. "Heather, I'll come round as soon as I can," he assured her absent-mindedly. "I'm sorry but I've got to go."

_It never rains,_ Brass thought to himself as he replaced the phone on the stand, _it fucking pours_.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: As usual, I love to hear from you so, good or bad, leave a review, they're greatly appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I apologise if this is turning into the Brass show. Not that I mind, he's a lot of fun to write but I know you're all impatient for Grissom to arrive… (I won't name anyone, well actually I think it's everyone) and he will soon (I know I keep saying that!) but there are still a few more chapters to go before his big entry. Originally, I had him coming early on in the story but the investigation took some unexpected turns. Anyway, I hope it'll all be worth the wait in the end and that you'll bear with me until then. :- ) Thanks!

* * *

Brass wished Vartann a good evening and promptly made his way to the interrogation room, not deeming it necessary to wait for Catherine to arrive. Although the door was shut Brass knew a uniformed officer would have stayed with Alec Foster, standing guard.

Brass would make Foster wait a little while longer as he was on home turf this time and he could lay the law down. The police captain stopped by the two-way mirror outside the interview room and took five minutes to observe the witness – or was he a suspect? At that moment, he was still undecided. _Could be our suspect,_ Brass mused _but then again so could half of PD. _Alec Foster was in his mid-forties, fairly well-dressed in chinos and a long sleeve dress shirt and was impatiently drumming his fingers on the table in front of him occasionally muttering something either to himself or to the officer present in the room.

As Brass slowly pushed the interview room door open wondering about the man already sitting at the table, Alec Foster's head snapped up. "Are you in charge?" he asked without waiting for an introduction.

Brass nodded his head once in reply, walking to one side of the room where he quickly turned on the recording equipment in order to tape the conversation. He then deliberately took his time to walk back to the table, pull a chair back and sit directly opposite Foster. "Captain Brass," he eventually said in a sombre tone.

"Well, _Captain_," Foster said rather contemptuously, "I demand to know what's going on here. I came willingly to _help you with your inquiry,_" he added, using the fingers of both his hands to mime quote marks, obviously citing Vartann.

Brass smiled his best _friendly_ smile. "You did and I thank you for it," he replied with a touch of sarcasm. He had taken an instant dislike to the guy; too smarmy and sure of himself. "You're obviously a responsible citizen."

Foster seemed to accept Brass's comment at face value and nodded his head in agreement. "Okay," he said a little dismissively, "so how can I help the LVPD?"

Brass's expression turned serious. "It's about a little girl that's gone missing…" he started.

"The one from the Amber Alert?" Foster cut in.

Brass raised his brow in surprise. "You know about it?"

"Sure," Foster replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "I saw it on the news."

"Good. Well, we think you may have information pertaining to the case," Brass continued. "I believe you're from the East Coast?"

"That's right," the man acknowledged. "From Boston."

"And when did you arrive in Vegas?"

"On Monday," Foster replied.

"For business?"

The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the police captain, hesitating a little before answering. "No," he replied slowly, worried he might incriminate himself in some way, "I just fancied a trip to Vegas."

"Like that? Spur of the moment decision?" Brass asked not bothering to disguise the disbelief from his voice. "Mr Foster, I think you're holding something back. In fact, I _know_ you're holding something back. Why don't you level with me here?" Brass's tone was light but his gaze was piercing.

Foster attempted to feign ignorance but as Brass was openly staring unnervingly at him he soon dropped the charade and let out a sigh. "Okay," he said with a shaky smile and holding both hands up to the side, "I'll admit that I didn't _just_ happen to come to Vegas. I came to visit a friend. But I've done nothing wrong."

Brass raised an eyebrow, playing along. "A friend?" he asked, knowing full well who Foster meant. But he decided against mentioning Zoe or Alison Kessler by name at this stage, wanting to play his cards close to his chest. "And have you succeeded?"

"Sorry?"

"Did you manage to catch up with your _friend_?" Brass elaborated.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Foster replied edgily. "Or anything to do with any missing children."

"You're right, Mr Foster," Brass said in a fake placating tone, "I'm just inquisitive that's all. Call it professional curiosity, if you want." _Our man's getting nervous but I need to tread carefully,_ he thought._ Time to change tack_. "Okay, to go back to our missing little girl," he continued, "what were you doing yesterday at around 4.30 in the afternoon?"

"I don't like where this is going. Am I a suspect or something? Do I need an attorney?"

"No," the captain answered. "But it would help us if you could just answer a few questions."

Foster lifted an eyebrow, looking up toward the ceiling in thought. "4.30? Yesterday?" he repeated.

"Come on, now," Brass said impatiently.

Foster exhaled noisily. "I…I was at the Monte Carlo."

Brass rolled his eyes, getting fed up with the man's games. "That's where you're staying, isn't it?"

"Well, you know that already since that's where you found me," Foster replied, startled by Brass's impatient tone.

"Can anybody verify that?"

"Pardon?"

"Were you on your own? Did you talk to anybody who…"

Foster interrupted Brass. "What you mean is do I have an alibi?" he asked a little angrily.

"You read my mind." Brass leaned back in his chair and raised his arms, lacing his fingers so his hands were resting across the top of his head.

Foster squeezed his eyes shut and his left leg started to shake with involuntary spasms. He was showing all the tell-tale signs of anxiety. "Huh," he replied, "I was playing the slot machines from 1 to 4 pm. Then, I went back to my room, had a shower and ordered room service and then I went out."

Brass remained silent but shifted his position to make some quick notes. The casino had security cameras mounted in every corner and the hotel reception would have a record of his call. Foster's alibi would be easy to check out.

"What's this regarding?" Foster inquired nervously. "I don't know anything about any little girl going missing except from what I saw on the news."

"So you never left the hotel before…" Brass opened both palms of his hand, offering a rough estimate, "what? Like five o'clock?"

"Something like that."

Brass grew visibly irritated. "Did you go near Sunset Park at all?"

"No," Foster replied categorically, his frustration evident. "I've not even heard of the place. Why are you asking me all these questions?"

Brass turned his head toward the door and shared a look with Catherine Willows, who after a soft knock at the door was making her way in. Without a word, she took a seat next to Brass, placing her kit on the floor by her feet.

"Mr Foster," Brass said happy at Catherine's perfectly-timed interruption, ignoring the man's last question. "This is Catherine Willows from the crime lab. She's going to sit with us and help us eliminate you from our enquiries."

"What do you mean, _eliminate me_? I thought I wasn't a suspect; that you got me here to help…" Foster scraped his chair back angrily and got up to leave. "I've had enough of this, I'm leaving. You're not charging me with anything, are you? Cos if you are, you're very mistaken."

Brass had to do something fast or else he would have to let Foster go. "Sir, sit back down please, the missing girl's Alison Kessler and I have a few more questions if you wouldn't mind answering them," Brass said in a conciliatory tone.

At first, Foster was determined, moving toward the door but as the name registered, the penny slowly dropped and he understood what Brass was driving at. He stopped dead in his tracks and took up his seat once again, his face registering a look of surprise quickly followed by either confusion or shock, Brass couldn't be sure.

"Kessler, you say? Is she related to Zoe Kessler?" he whispered. "Is she Zoe's daughter?" Then, he looked up toward Brass catching his highly-dubious expression. "Jeez…Wait a minute. You think I have anything to do with her disappearance?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Brass said in a quiet voice staring unnervingly at the suspect.

"This is crap as far as I'm concerned. I had nothing to do with her disappearance," Foster repeated for emphasis. "This is complete news to me. What reason would I have to take her?"

"You said earlier you'd come to Vegas to see a friend. I take it you meant Zoe Kessler?"

Foster gave a nod of his head. "I thought we could…I don't know…meet up, I guess. My life's taken a turn for the worse and," he paused briefly as understanding flashed in his face. "Hang on a minute, how old is she?" he asked after a while, "the little girl. Alison. I didn't catch the whole of the broadcast. How old is she?"

"Almost six," Brass replied. The cat was out of the bag and Brass briefly wondered about Heather's reaction when she heard that Foster had worked out that he might have a daughter.

Foster's voice dropped as he bowed his head, running his hand through his hair. "I can't deal with this right now, I'm sorry. This is just…too much."

Foster looked about to have a break-down and Catherine thought it a good time to interrupt. "Sir," she said, "I can see that you're quite shaken up by this, so maybe now's a good time for me to take your prints so we can eliminate you from our enquiries once and for all. If, as you say," she added, "you had nothing to do with the abduction, it'll be easy to verify."

"Abduction?" Foster gasped looking at Brass. "You said _missing_." He then turned towards Catherine. "Do what you need to do," he said, eyes downcast.

"Thank you," Catherine said, lifting her kit onto the table. She opened it and took out her equipment. "Mr Foster, what shoe size are you?"

The man snapped his head up. "I beg your pardon?" he asked with a frown.

"What's your shoe size?" she repeated.

"Eleven."

"Can I please take a look at the underside of your shoes?" she then asked him.

Foster silently lifted his foot. Brass nodded in response to Catherine's slow shake of the head. Foster meanwhile was completely compliant, totally lost in his own confused thoughts.

At this time in the proceedings, both Brass and Catherine knew that the likelihood of Foster being Alison's abductor was very slim. Yet the CSI wouldn't be doing her job if she didn't carry out all the necessary checks.

"Do you object to being fingerprinted?" she asked him. In response, he gave a slow shake of his head. She took the prints of all ten digits with her hand-held mobile scanner and then withdrew a stick to take a swab for DNA. Why not? The man was still consenting and it couldn't hurt to have a sample for comparison.

When she was done, she gave Brass a little nod of her head. _Time for some damage control,_ he thought as he cleared his throat before asking. "Mr Foster, your wife said you were due back east tomorrow?"

The man jerked his head up. "Jesus!" he said, rubbing both hands over his face, "you spoke to my wife?"

"Sure," Brass replied casually, "how else do you think we found you? I bet she doesn't know why you came though, does she?"

Foster shrugged.

"We should have your alibi all checked out by then so there's no reason for you to hang around and not leave as planned. I'm sure your wife's dying to see you."

"What about _this_?" Foster asked, waving his arms between him, Brass and Catherine.

"What this?" Brass asked with a shrug. "We needed your help with our enquiry and you helped so now you can be on your way," Brass said getting to his feet to ask the uniformed officer that had been standing at the door throughout the interview to drive Foster back to his hotel. The man was still too stunned to put up any kind of fight and he let himself be led away.

"Another dead end," the captain told Catherine as the door shut behind Foster and the officer. He moved to turn the recording equipment off.

"I'm sure that's not the last we'll hear from him though," Catherine said with a nod towards the door.

"I know," Brass acknowledged, "Heather's not going to like it."

"Well, good luck with that," Catherine said, packing away her kit.

"Talking of which…Damn!" the captain muttered under his breath as he glanced at the clock on the wall, "I've got to go. I'm already late as it is."

Catherine registered a look of surprise but Brass was already out of the door.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Would you like me to post quicker between chapters until Grissom arrives? Silly me, of course you would! I'll see what I can do. Anyway, as usual I love to hear from you, so let me know.


	8. Chapter 8

"Captain Brass," Heather said opening the door, "thank you for coming so quickly."

Brass nodded gravely in reply as he stepped into her _domain_. Heather dispensed with further pleasantries and led him directly to her sitting-room as he cast a quick glance around the place wondering at the reasons behind this meeting. _Why here and not PD?_

The house was pretty much as he remembered it from his previous visits; much like the lady of the house, it was immaculately kept and … "I'm sorry," Brass apologised self-consciously with a small shrug as Heather caught him red-handed as he was surveying what he could see of the house. "Force of habit, I'm afraid." He followed her deeper in the sitting-room, compelled to ask the question burning on his lips. "So, Heather what can I do for you?"

Heather made a beeline for the coffee table in the middle of the room. She silently pressed a button on the house phone sitting there, triggering the answering service.

"_You have one message. Message number one: "Hello, Heather. Long time no see. Know that I am thinking about you in your hour of need. However, rest assured that your…pain is soon to end." Today, at four-thirty pm."_

As he was listening to the last sentence of the voice-altered message, Brass noticed Heather give an involuntary shiver, her face contorted in anguish as she grasped a chair with both hands for support. He remained stood silently in the middle of the room for a long moment, rooted to the spot in shocked disbelief at the new turn of events, replaying each clearly-enunciated syllable, each smoothly-pronounced word in his mind while trying to give them some kind of meaning. Although said casually and in a friendly, even creamy tone, the message was clear, calculated and chilling.

Even though Alison wasn't mentioned as such, the message still shed some new light on her disappearance. Could they be looking at a stalker turned kidnapper? Someone from Heather's past and therefore known to her who had felt the need to disguise his – or her –voice lest it should be recognised. That would explain the need for using a voice-altering device.

So many new theories were forming in Brass's mind.

_Long time no see._ That suggested that the abductor was someone Heather had known some time ago and hadn't had contact with since.

_I am thinking about you in your hour of need._ A twisted way of showing that he or she cared about Heather? Unrequited affection or even love?

_Your pain is soon to end. _Brass sadly didn't think this meant that Alison would be returned to Heather and Jerome. More the opposite.

As if she had been reading his mind, Heather's next words, spoken so softly he almost missed them, echoed the detective's exact thoughts. "Somehow, I don't believe the last statement means what I wished it did."

Brass was at a loss as to what to say. Words weren't his forte, especially not words of comfort, so he reacted the only way he knew how and reverted to cop mode, pulling his cell out of his suit jacket pocket. He called dispatch, apprised them of the situation and asked for a uniformed officer to come and get the phone to take to CSI for processing. He then called Catherine at the crime lab explaining the situation.

Heather remained quiet throughout, looking utterly abject and defeated. She was still rooted to the spot, holding onto the back of the armchair for support, her hands unconsciously shaking in anxiety as her nails were slowly digging their way into the soft velour. Her gaze was almost vacant, staring straight ahead at Brass yet not really seeing him.

Brass gave careful thought to his next words; he was convinced Heather was the key to identifying Alison's abductor. But how could he get her to open up? There was no doubt in his mind that whoever had left that cryptic message detained the little girl.

"This sounds personal, Heather," Brass said in a kind tone when he ended his call to Catherine, "and I would bet my bottom dollar that it's connected to Alison's disappearance. But I'm sure you had guessed at that already."

Heather flinched slightly at his words, her focus returning yet she remained still.

Brass continued his gentle probing. "I know you won't be able to recognise the voice but the mere fact that he used such a device suggests that he doesn't want to be identified. It's most likely that you know him – or her. We've been looking at a man because of the witnesses' statements but we could be looking at two people. Are you sure you don't recognise anything distinctive about the content of the message? The way it was worded? Or maybe the intonation of the voice?"

"No," Heather uttered after a while, hugging herself as if to keep warm. "I've been playing it over and over again in my head, looking back to anyone in my past who would hate me enough to...do this; someone who knows me well enough to have my unlisted number," she finished weakly. After a while in silence, she asked, "Do you think it could be Foster?"

Brass shook his head but Heather was looking down, nervously playing with her bracelet. "No," Brass answered categorically.

Heather suddenly looked up and tilted her head to the side in surprise at the vehemence of Brass's retort. She slightly narrowed her eyes at the detective. "How can you be so sure?"

Brass let out a sigh. "The reason I couldn't come straightaway when you called," Brass started with a small smile, "was we had Foster in for questioning."

"He's in Vegas?" Heather gasped, walking round to sit down on the chair she had been leaning on. She silently motioned with an open hand for Brass to join her.

"Yeah," he replied, following suit, "but he's got an alibi, which I'm pretty much sure will check out. But, we've got a recording of his voice and as soon as your phone gets back to the lab, the techs will be able to do a voice comparison."

"Despite the distortion?"

"Despite the distortion," Brass repeated with a smile. "As long as we've got something to compare it to." He paused for a small moment. "They'll also try to trace where the call came from but I'm almost certain that'll come back to a pay phone. The guy who took Alison covered his tracks well so far but there's always a chance he'll slip up," Brass paused again, a thought entering his mind. "Do you know anybody who drives a black Mitsubishi pick-up truck?"

She narrowed her eyes in concentration and silently gave a shake of her head in response. Clearly shaken by the situation, she resumed staring straight in front of her, intently peering into nothingness. Something about her demeanour alarmed Brass. "Heather? Are you alright?"

Heather snapped her head round to look at him, startled out of her daydream. She offered him a shaky smile instead of an answer.

At that particular moment his heart went out to her and he felt sympathy towards Heather. "Do you have someone who could come and stay with you?" he then asked.

She gave a bitter laugh. She laughed quietly at first then louder and louder until her nervous laughter petered out into a sad, spluttering croak. She cleared her throat. "Like a _girl_ friend?" she asked with disbelief. "No, I'm afraid I don't have any of them. Women – or men for that matter – tend to find me…intimidating, for want of a better word."

Brass gave Heather's reply a thought, hesitating with his next question. "Would you…would you like me to call Grissom?"

Heather arched an eyebrow in surprise. "No," she uttered. "Why would you want to do such a thing? He chose to leave all this behind," she added with a wave of her hand between the two of them, "and for good reasons and I don't want _this_ to be the cause of his return. What could Grissom do that you couldn't?"

"Be your friend," Brass replied sadly.

Heather gave Brass her first genuine smile since he had got there. "That's very kind of you, Captain Brass and I appreciate the intention, truly. But I'll be fine and as Jerome's not doing very well right now – he blames himself for Ali's disappearance – I'm going to go and stay with him for a while."

"Good," Brass replied, hesitating on whether to carry on with his train of thought as the ominous phone message still echoed in his sub-conscious. He sat back in his chair a little, loosening the knot of his tie to undo the top button of his shirt. "I was wondering…have you noticed anything out of the ordinary the past few weeks? Someone watching or following you; a car maybe or the black pick-up truck? Any strange telephone calls? Well, apart from this one," he qualified motioning toward the phone.

"No," Heather replied with a shake of her head. "But then I haven't been paying attention either."

"I think that behind those seemingly benign words lurks a genuine death threat and while I don't want to alarm you, in view of this new development, I'd like for you to have some kind of protection."

Heather pursed her lips. "Like police protection?"

"For instance."

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary. I do not wish to live my life in fear or for its terms to be dictated by the whims of a lunatic."

"A lunatic who may have taken your grand-daughter and has sent you a very clear warning," countered Brass.

"I understand where you're coming from, really, I do Captain Brass but it won't be necessary."

Brass raised his hands up in surrender and left it at that. "Jim, please," he offered with a smile. "Call me Jim."

There was an awkward silence that lasted several minutes, both lost in their own thoughts, before Heather asked a little edgily, "W-would you care for a drink?"

"Sure," Brass replied expecting her to offer him tea or coffee. He was surprised when he watched her get up and make her way to the far wall where there was a small bar. She slowly took off the diamond-shaped lid of the crystal decanter and turned over a couple of tumblers that were placed around the carafe.

"Ice?" she asked, looking back over her shoulder.

Brass shook his head.

"Me neither," she replied, pouring herself a good measure before taking a quick sip of the amber liquid. She then topped up her drink and poured one for her companion. She took another swig, waiting a moment for the alcohol to take effect. She had her back turned away from him yet he noticed her wipe something away from her face with the back of her thumb. A fleck of dust, maybe? A stray eyelash? A tear?

He lowered his gaze in an attempt at giving her a little privacy, some time to compose herself. After a while, she took up her seat opposite him, placing his drink on a coaster on the low table. He noticed sadly that she had indeed been crying.

He cleared his throat. "Technically," he said in a light tone nodding toward the drink, "I'm still on the clock."

She recognised his kind attempt at cheerfulness. "Would you prefer coffee?" she asked with a raise of her brow.

"No," he stated simply, picking up the glass from the table. "I'm long due a break and this is just what the doctor ordered." He gulped a long swig, taking the time to taste the alcohol in his mouth before swallowing it. "Good stuff," he commented with a raise of his glass in her direction.

The drink seemed to help him loosen up and lose some of the inhibitions he generally displayed in her company. He sunk himself further into the chair, swilling the liquid round as he stared into the bottom of his glass for inspiration. "How are you bearing up?" he asked her after a little while spent in silent contemplation.

Heather raised her glass at Brass in the same way before taking a small sip. "Are you worried about the drinking?" she asked with a strained smile. "Let me reassure you, I don't generally partake but tonight I needed a stiff drink and am thankful for the company. There's nothing more pitiful, in my opinion, than a woman who drinks alone."

Brass nodded his head in understanding, putting the glass back down on the coaster. "No, what I meant to ask is," he continued, "you look like you're keeping it together yet it doesn't take a genius to notice that it's all front. Sorry," he quickly added, "I didn't mean to sound judgemental."

"No, don't apologise," she said, looking at him with interest, "you were being honest and I value your honesty. The truth is I'm just about holding it together and you're quite right I put up a good front." She paused. "I feel so exposed, so …powerless and so very frustrated. Jerome blames himself but I know that ultimately, I am the reason Ali's been taken and I can't do anything about it except wait."

Brass was lost for words and dropped his gaze. She was right, of course, and there would be no point telling her otherwise or trying to cheer her up with lies; she would see straight through them. So once again Brass remained silent, looking somewhat uneasily at the bottom of his drink.

"How is Grissom?" she inquired eventually. "Yesterday you said that he and Sara were back from Costa Rica." She smiled. "Last time I saw him, he still hadn't decided whether he would go to her. I guess they settled their differences."

Brass looked up, grateful in a way for the change of topic of conversation, even if it meant talking about Grissom. He smiled. "They sure did," he said, with obvious pleasure in his voice. "And yet it took them long enough," he carried on, taking another small sip of his drink, remembering the details of their reunion, "but they got there in the end."

"How long have they been back?"

Brass felt a little uncomfortable talking about Grissom and Sara behind their backs even if he wasn't giving away any secrets. If Grissom had wanted Heather to know, he could always have called her. "Three months now," he replied vaguely.

"Good," she said genuinely pleased, "I'm glad he was able to take the chance. Happiness is much underrated," she added with a touch of melancholy, "and it doesn't take long for your whole life to be shattered."

Whether she was referring to the loss of Zoe, Alison or both, Brass couldn't be sure but before he could formulate an appropriate reply he was saved by the ringing of the door bell. _Probably the officer_ he mused as he quickly finished his drink, taking the interruption as his cue to make his excuses. Heather got up and made her way to the front door, soon joined by Brass who had placed the telephone in a clear evidence bag. Heather stepped aside as Brass greeted Officer Metcalf standing at the door. He promptly thanked her for the drink and reminded her to keep him abreast of any further development.

Once outside and the door firmly closed he told Metcalf that there was a change of plans and that he would take the evidence back to the crime lab himself. Instead, he instructed his officer to watch – with the utmost discretion of course – Lady Heather's house from his patrol car until he could arrange for proper surveillance and a plain-clothed officer in an unmarked police car to come and relieve him.

Brass wasn't going to run the risk of anything happening to Heather whilst on his watch.

* * *

End of Act 1.

Tbc.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry, I hope you're not squeamish. I got carried away writing this…strangely I've developed a great interest for forensic entomology whilst doing this research.

* * *

Eleven days had passed since little Alison's disappearance but her abduction was still very much in the forefront of the CSI's minds despite the fact that resources and man-power had been pulled away from the investigation as it had ground to a complete stop. No new evidence was found, no ransom demand or any contacts from the abductor – other than the phone message – were made and the CSI's and detectives had had to put the case on the back burner until...well, indefinitely.

The crime lab was unusually quiet this early in the shift as the rest of the team were already out, leaving Nick behind to man the fort. In instances like these he liked to lock himself in the sanctity of his office. Well… not quite _his_ office per se. Being seated at Grissom's desk had taken some getting used to though and Grissom's presence had lingered for a long time but a lot of positive energy was still to be felt in that room.

The ringing of his cell made Nick look up with a start from the case notes on the home invasion in Henderson he had been working on. He fumbled for his phone in his jeans pocket and flipped it open on the third ring. "Stokes" he said as he brought the phone to his ear.

"How do you fancy a road trip?" Brass's voice sounded dreary.

Nick's gaze strayed down to the papers scattered all over his desk. "Anything to relieve the boredom of paperwork," he replied stifling a yawn. "Where are you taking me?"

"420 in Spring Mountains near the Ranch State Park. A couple of fishermen stumbled upon a ripe one."

"Peachy," Nick replied.

"Anybody else around, Nick?" asked Brass. "I think you might need a second pair of hands on that one."

"No, I'm on my lonesome. Everybody else's out." He eased a look at his watch. "Okay, Jim, give me an hour. At this time of night, the roads shouldn't be too busy."

"Make it an hour and a half. It's a_ long_ trek all the way up to the lake," Brass said, placing particular emphasis on the word 'long'. "Believe me. Anyway, I'll get someone to meet you in the Park's parking lot and walk you to the scene."

"Okay."

"Oh! And Nick?" Brass called. "Bring a load of vials; you're going to need them."

"It's like that, is it?"

"Yeah," replied Brass, a little downcast, "and worse."

Nick reached the Ranch State Park's parking lot in good time and parked near the Park's ranger who was waiting for him, leaning against his all-terrain truck. He noticed Brass's Taurus parked alongside a couple of police cruisers further down the lot. He got out of his Denali to greet the ranger and quickly began unloading his equipment from the trunk. As it was a particularly dark night, even the moon was obscured by the rolling clouds Nick decided to take a portable halogen lamp and a spare battery pack and gave them to the ranger to carry. He would haul his heavy field kit, glad he had re-packed it into a backpack as well as another bag full of vials, jars and assorted containers that he would need for insect collection. He had seen Grissom pack the bag often enough in the past to know what not to forget.

As they set off, the ranger pointed to a spot in the distance, half-way up the mountain. Now that his eyes had had some time to adjust to the darkness Nick looked up towards the pitch black mountain thinking that their destination didn't look that far from where they were standing. He knew otherwise from experience of course and had come prepared. The ranger told him to stay near as the path was treacherous and soon started his trek up the steep incline at a slow, steady pace Nick following closely behind.

On reaching the last turn before the lake Nick stopped to catch his breath and noticed two men he assumed to be the fishermen who had discovered the body; they were still clad in their full gear and standing a good ten feet apart from each other. Nick walked on some more until he got to their level. One of the fishermen looked up as Nick and the park ranger went past and the CSI couldn't help notice the haunted look in the man's gaze. A look he recognised only too well. The man was as white as a sheet and it was clear to Nick that he had been sick. Nick gave a sympathetic nod of his head and carried on up. The foul unmistakeable stench of decomposition attacked his nostrils as he rounded the bend and he stopped for an instant to acclimatise himself.

Brass was standing some distance away talking to a couple of unis, a handkerchief held close to his nose. He turned round on hearing the two men arrive and gave a silent nod of his head in greeting as he walked toward Nick. The captain took what appeared to be a long deep breath and spoke through his handkerchief.

"The body's over there," he muttered, looking grim and pointing in the general direction of the lake ten yards away, "I don't have anymore to tell you at this stage and I don't wish to go back to it…yet," he added so quietly that despite the eerie silence surrounding them, Nick had to strain to hear Brass's words. "Give me a little more time."

Nick had never known Brass to react in this manner to finding a body at a crime scene in the past – however badly damaged or decomposed – and he could only wonder at the macabre horror awaiting him. The ranger put his heavy equipment down and asked whether it would be okay for him to go. The stench had got to him too. Nick took out his flash light from his kit and didn't waste any more time as he stepped under the crime scene tape, making his way to the shore carefully checking that he wasn't stepping on anything probative.

_Oh my God!_

Nick was not squeamish and yet he flicked the beam of the flashlight away from the body and pursing his lips together he shut his eyes and took a moment to prepare himself. He took a few shallow breaths and forced his gaze back onto the corpse. Or what was left of it.

Half the body - the upper half from what he could make out – was laying in shallow water on a bed of reeds, not completely submerged, the other half on the shore of the lake, still in the black plastic bin liner it had probably been dumped in – and there was no doubt in Nick's mind that this was a body dump. At first glance, Nick noted that the body was small, too small to be an adult one unless the body wasn't whole and had been cut up – and from what he could see it didn't appear to be the case. Its gender wasn't immediately apparent either. Nick shone his light onto the bloated head and torso and remarked that it had been half-eaten by the local wildlife – big and small by the looks of it and some of it still present – so much so that the face was unrecognisable to the naked eye.

He squeezed his eyes shut and remained immobile trying to maintain his self-control. The drone of the insects around the body was the only sound disturbing the quiet of the night. Nick reopened his eyes and walked a little into the water in order to bend down to take a better look at the insect activity there. How long he remained crouched down transfixed by the body, he couldn't tell but he was trying hard to fight the urge to touch it and check for more details as to its identity. Yet, he wasn't going to risk compromising the evidence by rushing the initial stages and he knew he had no choice but wait for the coroner to come.

There was only one thing to do until then. He got some latex gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on. He then reached for his camera and proceeded to take ample shots of the corpse and its surroundings. His thoughts suddenly flashed back to Alison Kessler's kidnapping and he stopped mid-way through adjusting his next shot.

_Could this be her body? Is this the reason the investigation into her disappearance has stalled? Because all this time she's been dead? Is this why Brass was looking so abject earlier on?_

Those thoughts were weighing heavily on his mind as he slung the camera strap over his shoulder and slowly swept the beam of his flashlight over the insects, clusters of different-sized maggots feeding onto the decaying black-coloured flesh. He bent down nearer the insects and took careful close-up shots of as many different types at different growth stages he could distinguish amid the masses of wildlife feasting on the various orifices and wounds on the body.

The light was poor however and before proceeding further, he decided to rig up the portable halogen lamp. Generally, waiting a few more hours until daylight wouldn't have mattered – the body was far too damaged for a few hours to make much of a difference – but in this case as the evidence was alive, moving and could disappear at any time Nick didn't leave anything to chance. It would take him a long time just to collect all the different samples of insects he would need in order to establish a timeline. When he was all set, he laid a tarp on the ground some distance away from the body where he could keep his wriggly _friends_.

Granted, maybe _friends_ wasn't the correct term to use in view of the fact that it had taken him many years – five to be precise – to reach the stage where he could comfortably deal with them but Grissom's enthusiasm had been contagious and he had grown to respect the bugs for what they could bring to an investigation.

Shaking his head back to the present, he changed his soiled gloves as he silently crouched down once more near the body. Finally, he was ready to proceed.

"_Okay, Nicky. What have we got?" _Nick smiled to himself on hearing Grissom's reassuring soft voice from deep inside his mind. "_Talk me through it."_

_First, check what insects are present and then the life cycle of said insects to ascertain the stage reached in their development._

"_Good. And how do you propose we do that?" _Grissom asked.

Nick got up, moved back to the shore and bent down to fumble in his kit for his long-edged, soft-tipped tweezers, a straight-edged ruler, some vials and a few thermometers to record ambient temperatures.

_First, we need to document the infestation._

Nick gave a little proud smile as he recognised and photographed two types of fly larva at different development stages. _Blue and green bottle flies. Or sometimes called blowflies. Good, that's standard,_ he thought. "Nothing to it, Grissom," he said out loud to his mentor, getting a vial out of his pocket. He meticulously labelled each vial with the date, time and approximate part of the body the specimens had been harvested from.

The maggots feeding onto the cadaver were so numerous that he found it hard to distinguish between the different species and development stages but managed to catch specimens of each species – or so he hoped – and put them in vials without any problems. He fed them a little ox liver which he had remembered to bring.

_What about this one? _he wondered, lifting the tweezers up closer to his face to peer at the wriggling maggot,_ isn't that a beetle?_

"_That's right, order Coleoptera," _replied Grissom as Nick placed the maggot in a vial,_ "but for now, concentrate of the fly larvae, what do they tell you?"_

_The eggs are laid on fresh flesh more or less straight-away,_ Nick repeated from memory. _They hatch in between eight to fourteen hours._

"_Warm weather hastens the process," _Grissom's voice interrupted his flow.

Nick took out the thermometer from his pocket and recorded the ambient temperature. He would need to do the same at regular interval as well as ascertain the climatic conditions in this part of the mountains for the last few weeks if he was to recreate the exact climatic conditions in the lab in order to work out how long it would take for the insect to fully mature and reach the development stage observed on the dead body. Then they would be able to establish a reasonably accurate time of death.

_Okay, so taking the temperatures into considerations, the first skin of the blowfly larvae is shed after on average ten hours: that's the first instar; the second instar after two to three days and the third instar after seven to eight days. How am I doing so far Grissom?_

"_Come on, Nick, keep at it. You're almost there."_

Nick took out the ruler from his pocket and continued. _This fly larva, the biggest one I seem to have found, look to be in the third instar of growth_, he thought as he roughly measured its length to be about fifteen to twenty millimetres. _So far so good. _He meticulously looked around for a short while and found no evidence of pupal casings on the soil surface.

_Okay, no casings. That means…we've not reached the pupal stage yet._

"_That's right, Nick." _Grissom's voice said._ "After the third instar, maggots would typically migrate from the body and bury themselves in soil where it would take them days to become pupae. So, what do you deduce from that?"_

Nick's frown deepened as he mentally calculated the time of death from the size of maggots he had collected. _Well, I think TOD was nine to ten days ago, _Nick replied in his head.

"_but probably no more than twelve days" _Grissom finished for him. _"But it will need to be verified at the lab. And yet, aren't you surprised not to find any evidence of Musca Domestica?"_ Grissom asked.

_Common house fly? Should I be?_ Nick furrowed his brow, standing up from his crouched position. He started looking around the body, shining his torch very slowly onto the soil nearby, looking perplexed. Something wasn't quite right.

_I can't see any casings around the body_. _Come on, help me Grissom, what am I missing?_

He walked back toward where he had left Brass and found Officer Mitchell guarding the crime scene.

"Mitch," Nick called, snapping his gloves off, "has anybody touched or moved the body?"

Mitch made a facial shrug. "I don't think so. Me and Davies were first on the scene and we know better than to contaminate the site. As for the two fishermen, no way," he said with a confident shake of his head, "they were too spooked. They rang the alarm as soon as they saw the body. They knew something was wrong because of the stench but they put it down to an animal carcass. Judging from their reaction, I don't think they would have touched it but the captain is with them now so I'll check. They refused to return anywhere near the lake. Why?"

"I don't know," Nick said, "I'm missing something."

"Do you think it's the Kessler girl?" asked Mitch.

Nick shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not sure, the decomp's too far advanced for any chance of a visual ID. We'll have to get it back to the morgue for a DNA analysis." Nick let out a long sigh. "But the bugs would suggest that the TOD fits the timeline and my gut…"

Nick's words were interrupted by a familiar soft voice echoing in his head. _Don't get yourself ahead of the evidence, Nicky._

Hearing footsteps approaching, he jerked his head round in surprise , wondering whether the voice he had just heard in his mind was real. When he realised it was David Phillips, he felt a little silly and smiled at his wishful thinking.

"Hey, Mitch, Nick," Dave greeted each man in turn with a nod. He was followed by a mortuary technician.

"Superdave," Nick greeted with a similar nod of his head, "the body's over there," he added, moving towards the lake. "I'll show you."

"Oh!" gasped David on reaching the shore.

"Didn't they tell you?" asked Nick. David gave a shake of his head, putting his case down. "Yeah, me neither."

"All I got was a 420 and a location," David said after a while, eyes fixed onto the small form.

"Who are you?" whispered Nick very quietly.

"Pardon?" asked David, startled out of his thoughts as he turned his head toward Nick.

"You do agree it looks like a child's body, don't you, Dave?" he asked softly.

David nodded, returning his gaze to the body. "It would appear so but we won't be sure until we get it back to the morgue for post-mortem."

"Who could do that to a child?" Nick whispered, looking grave, his voice tinged with a trace of anger. "It's beyond me. I'm not even sure what's worse; killing the poor child, or dumping the body here for it to rot and be devoured by the animals."

"You don't think it could be…" David let his words trail; they both knew who he meant.

Sighing, Nick shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Regardless of who this is, someone's world is going to be shattered."

They remained silent for another minute or so until David asked. "Have you finished with the documentation?"

"No, David. Not yet. Something's not quite right with the bugs and I'd rather we left the body in situe for now. There are inconsistencies in my findings and I need a bit more time to figure it out."

David silently nodded.

_I don't even know how I'm even going to begin with all this when it get it back to the lab,_ Nick thought, a little dispirited at his shortcomings as he stared at all the jars spread out on the tarp.

"_I'll be here to help,"_ Grissom's voice whispered as Nick gave a grateful small smile.

"What are you smiling at?" asked David looking puzzled.

Nick shook his head. "Nothing. Just something Grissom said," he replied.

David smiled at the mention of Grissom's name. "Grissom left his legacy but it's at times like these when we miss him the most isn't it?" he said with a nod toward the vials.

"We sure do," Nick replied distractedly, trying to figure out what he was missing. "Damn, something's not adding up and I can't put my finger on it. Would you mind not moving the body yet, David? I'm going to need a second opinion on this."

"Sure. A few more minutes or hours won't make much of a difference. I won't be able to establish accurate TOD or COD anyway so you go ahead and talk some more with the bugs. That's what Grissom would do," David said with a soft smile. "We're well past the stage of being able to measure the loss of body temperature and rigor mortis has come and passed. As soon as we touch it, the state it's in, the body's going to disintegrate."

"Regardless, I don't want to mess this up if it's our only chance." Nick said, letting out a breath as he snapped his latex gloves off and retrieved his cell from the pocket in his forensics windbreaker, hoping he would get a signal. Not enough to make a call. He walked back to Mitch's position and was told he would get better reception a hundred yards or so downhill.

Ecklie purposefully walked the deserted corridors of CSI in search of Catherine. The night shift supervisor had dodged a meeting earlier in the afternoon and Ecklie resented having to look for her in the dead of night in order to get an update on the Alison Kessler's case. The Mayor had been on the Sheriff's back who in turn had been on his back. He had already spoken to Brass, to no avail and thought it would do no harm to keep Catherine on her toes too. She was long due a visit anyway.

The light was on in her office and the door had been left ajar. Ecklie snuck up quietly and stood by her door, silently observing her for a few minutes. When she didn't look up from the file she was studying he knocked on the doorframe and smiled arrogantly as she flinched in surprise.

"Any new leads on the Alison Kessler abduction?" he asked without preamble. "I wouldn't need to ask you if you hadn't dodged the meeting this afternoon."

Catherine registered a flitting look of surprise at Ecklie's obnoxiousness but instead of stooping to his level she stood up and greeted him with her broadest smile. "Evening to you too Conrad," she said her voice laced with sarcasm. "And I didn't _dodge_ that meeting, I got called in early. Anyway, what do you want?" she asked dropping the pretence. "I was under the impression that these days you never ventured out at night."

The shrill ring of Catherine's cell phone interrupted further animosity. "It's Nick," she exclaimed holding the phone up as evidence. "I've got to take it."

If Catherine thought the interruption would get Ecklie to leave she was mistaken for he stepped into her office and made himself comfortable on one of the chairs facing her desk. "Go ahead," he said, "I can wait."

Catherine gave a nod a she flipped her phone open. "Nicky, where are you?" she asked as greeting. "I thought you'd gone hiking," she added tongue-in-cheek with a look toward Ecklie.

Catherine visibly paled and flopped down on her chair as Nick proceeded to explain the discovery of the badly-decomposed body, his findings about the insects and the inconsistencies he couldn't figure out or explain. He also shared with her his gut feeling that this could be Alison Kessler's body.

"Okay," she eventually managed when he had finished his account. "For now, just…well, just keep doing what you're doing and I'll see if I can get someone out to help you." She suddenly looked up toward the man seated in front of her, a sly smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Nick," she carried on, locking eyes with Ecklie, "I've just got the perfect man for the job, stay where you are and I'll get back to you," she finished with a meaningful stare at the under-sheriff whose eyes widened in alarm.

She disconnected the call just as Ecklie was getting to his feet, unable to conceal the panicked expression from his face.

"I hope you're not thinking of sending _me_ out there," Ecklie stammered, beating a fast retreat, "because I can tell you right now…"

Catherine laughed in spite of herself. "Relax, Conrad," she said, interrupting his tirade, "I have someone a lot more qualified in mind…"

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: This is a very morbid chapter and I hope I haven't offended anyone as I have tried to handle the issue with sensitivity. Thanks if you're still reading after this. It'll get better. Sylvie.


	10. Chapter 10

"Hey, Gil!"

Grissom turned round on hearing a friendly familiar voice calling him as he was making his way out of baggage reclaim. Travel bag in hand and day backpack slung over his shoulder, he strode purposefully toward his friend a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Jim," he greeted, holding out his hand for Brass to shake, "I didn't think I'd see _you_ here. I thought you might have sent a patrol car or worse, Greg to pick me up."

Smiling, Brass shook Grissom's hand while affectionately patting him on the shoulder with his free hand. "What? And miss catching up with you?" Both men started meandering their way through the unhurried hordes of tourists toward the exit. "Thanks for coming so promptly, Gil."

Grissom nodded solemnly, remembering Catherine's wake-up call only a few hours previously.

"How was your flight? Brass asked with a slight arch of his brow.

"Thankfully uneventful," Grissom answered a little too tightly to fool Brass who smiled knowingly.

"Well, you look good anyway," Brass commented as they reached the car, "the sea air obviously suits you."

"It does," replied Grissom, thinking that unfortunately he couldn't return the compliment as he found Brass looking particularly haggard and dishevelled. And he didn't believe that the reason behind that was simply because the detective had yet again worked multiple shifts successively. No, behind the easy smile, Grissom found his friend troubled, an anxious edge to him as if there was something more sinister disturbing him.

They left the airport terminal and were soon standing in the cool early morning breeze. Brass had managed to snag a place just in front of the airport arrivals and had left the red and blue lights flashing on his car. The police captain smiled meekly on seeing Grissom's brow lift in amusement. "What?" Brass asked, shrugging helplessly, "I was running late and what could I do?"

Grissom had only enough time to throw his bags onto the back seat and let himself in the passenger side before Brass took off with a squeal of tyres.

"Are we in a hurry?" he asked as he was buckling up.

Brass shrugged his answer, keeping his eyes on the road. "Well, you know how it is. Scene gets contaminated even as we speak." Brass cleared his throat uneasily before inquiring, "How's Sara?"

Grissom sat back in his seat and turned to look at Brass. There was no way he could have failed to notice his friend's edginess and slight discomfort coupled with the tell-tale drawn lines and set jaw on his face. Something was wrong, he could tell. "She's good," he replied deciding to let Brass address what was bothering him in his own good time. "She's sorry she couldn't come but she sends her love."

Brass gave a small smile. "And the little one?"

_Procrastinating, are we? Well Jim, I too can play that game._ "He's good too. Getting bigger and teething but you know…" Grissom replied.

"Yeah, nice little fellow," Brass commented distractedly, staring straight ahead.

_That sure took care of the pleasantries, _Grissom thought as the car descended into a heavy silence.

"Jim," Grissom called after a while, visibly startling Brass out of a daydream, "I know your diversionary tactics and they're not working. I can see you're stalling. Quit beating around the bush and tell me the reason for my being here. What was so urgent that had Catherine call me in the middle of the night and you fetch me from the airport? I'm sure you've got better things to do with your time."

"And miss catching up with my buddy?" Brass quipped in vain, trying to dodge answering the question. He eased his Taurus out of McCarran and took off toward the I-15. So early in the morning, there wasn't much traffic around as he headed for the southbound freeway on-ramp without any delay.

Grissom sat back on his seat and let Brass take his time to open up. He would eventually. Grissom suspected that there was more to it than the finding of a body in the mountains but he decided to let Brass broach the subject when he was good and ready.

"Things have not been the same round here since you left," Brass continued more to himself than to his companion after a while in silence.

Instead of replying Grissom turned his head to look out of the passenger window and watch the city lights flash past before him, hoping that his lack of enthusiasm toward Brass's attempts at dodging the real issue would get the captain talking about them quicker.

_Vegas._ Dawn was breaking and the distinctive skyline of Vegas and the strip loomed large on the horizon, tall sky-scrapers illuminated by the early-morning rising sun; the Eiffel Tower, or at least a dwarfed version of it, stood tall in the forefront. Grissom gazed at the jaw-dropping view before him without much interest and certainly without the awe of other arriving tourists. Well, he wouldn't consider himself a tourist really, more of a visitor. A short-term one at that.

The ex-criminologist couldn't believe it had taken him almost a year to set foot here again. And from what he could see from his vantage point, the place had hardly changed at all. And at that particular moment, as he was watching the familiar scenery zoom by, he realised for the first time since he had left that he hadn't missed it at all; either the city or the job. Simply, his focus in life had shifted and for the better. Grissom smiled a soft smile to himself at that thought. The job wasn't his priority any more. Far from it. His family was.

_Sara_. His half smile turned to a wistful one as he recalled her sad anxious face when she had waved at the retreating tail-lights of the cab from the front porch of their house when he had left for the airport in the dead of the night. It was the first time they would be apart for any length of time in eleven months.

Yet Catherine's call had piqued his curiosity, had intrigued him and he was quietly relishing the challenge of once more doing what he loved best: working with his beloved insects. Sara had had no qualms about letting him return to Vegas but her weak reasons for not coming herself had been enough to show Grissom that she wasn't ready to come back yet. And he hadn't insisted. For, he couldn't ignore the look he had glimpsed at when she had nervously watched him pack his bags – a shadow of the haunted look she used to have before she had left the place mere telephone call from Catherine was all it took to dredge up all her seemingly forgotten bad memories of Vegas.

He felt a sudden urge to call her to reassure her that he had made it in one piece and to tell her not to worry. He knew it would be futile as she undoubtedly would anyway. Still, he had promised her he would stay no longer than a week, less if he could. Just enough time to show Nick the ropes and set the timeline up. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was only 6.30 am. _Too early to call home,_ he thought with a smile, fearful of needlessly waking Noah.

_Home._ The thought brought a bit of warmth to his old weary bones. Sunnydale, south of San Francisco was home now. _No,_ he reminded himself,_ home is where my heart is._ And his heart would always remain with the two most precious people in his life. _My wife and son. My family._ It had taken him an eternity to get there but it had been well worth the wait and heartache along the way. For, his life since then was everything he could ever have wished for and more. Oh, and so much more.

Grissom took out his cell from his pocket and switched it on. Better to do it now than to forget completely. He restlessly toyed with the device, turning it over and over in his hands, as he hesitated to make the call he so wanted to make. A better idea suddenly popped into his head. Instead, he would do something he was certain would bring a smile to her face. He pressed a few keys and started to type his message. Satisfied with its content, he pressed send and replaced the cell in his pocket as he resumed watching the road pass by.

And still, Brass was silent, unusually quiet, fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel, eyes trained firmly on the road. More minutes passed and fed up with waiting for an explanation from Brass and not knowing how best to phrase what he needed to ask, Grissom settled for bluntness – the only language the detective would understand and respond to.

"Jim," Grissom said with evident concern, "is everything all right?" Brass peeled his eyes off the road to silently give a quick glance toward Grissom. "Those weren't there" Grissom continued as he motioned with his finger towards the dark circles around the detective's eyes, "when you came up for Thanksgiving."

Brass returned his gaze to the road, signalling to negotiate the turn onto Blue Diamond Road. "I know," he sighed. "I've just had a lot on my plate recently," he muttered after a while.

"Why am I here Jim?" Grissom tried again with a sigh.

Brass took a deep breath, clearly relenting and yet still hesitating. Grissom couldn't begin to guess at the thoughts Brass was battling with and at how much the last two weeks had sapped the captain's energy. A troubled expression flickered across his face and he muttered under his breath.

How could he explain to Grissom that the Alison Kessler's case was keeping him up at night when he suspected his friend knew nothing about it? Should he even mention her abduction to Grissom when the case in hand was still unrelated? Would that knowledge be clouding_ his_ judgement too? Should he say that what was gnawing at him was the fear that the body on the mountain was Alison's and that he dreaded the moment he would have to tell Heather? That in some way he felt responsible, that he had failed both his friend and Heather because he hadn't been good enough to find the little girl in time?

The police captain let out one more resigned sigh and finally made himself turn toward Grissom as he asked, "How much did Catherine tell you about the case?"

Grissom gave a small uncertain shrug. "Very little but I figure that if she took the trouble to get me out here on the first available flight and with Ecklie's backing," he carried on, still a little incredulous at the mere suggestion, "then it must be a very high profile case indeed. And I sure could tell she was deliberately tight-lipped about it _and_ acting a bit like you are now."

Brass arched an eyebrow quizzically. "Oh? And how's that?"

"Jim," Grissom said in a warning tone, "I'm going to find out soon anyway. Why don't you just get on with it and tell me? I'd much rather hear it from you than anyone else."

Brass sighed as he began. "Okay. Two weeks ago, a little girl went missing from Sunset Park."

"Abduction?"

"Well, most likely. Yet we have nothing. No leads, nothing. It's like she just vanished into thin air. Well, with the help of a man."

"Okay, so how does this relate to the body in Spring Mountain you need my help with?" Grissom asked, looking somewhat befuddled.

Brass took his eyes off the road to look at Grissom. "Nick thinks – and David tends to concur – that the body's small enough to be that of a child but we won't be sure or have a chance at any ID until we take it to Doc…"

"And you think the two cases are one and the same," Grissom cut in, finally getting it. "Okay. So you need me to do an insect study for the TOD to see whether that fits the timeline..."

Brass nodded. "That's right. Nick's doing a good job collecting the samples but he's found some discrepancies with the bugs."

"Well, I don't see why you couldn't have told me that in the first place…"

"There's more," Brass interrupted, "have you…" He licked his lips nervously. "Gil, I don't know how to tell you this but have you spoken to Lady Heather recently?"

Grissom looked puzzled by the change of direction the conversation was taking. "No. Not since I left Vegas. Why?"

Brass briefly closed his eyes and turned to look at Grissom. "The little girl who's missing is her grand-daughter."

"Alison?" gasped Grissom.

Brass registered a look of surprise. "You knew about her?"

Grissom nodded gravely as he turned his gaze away. "Heather must be devastated," he mumbled to himself. Then he turned his attention back to the captain. "Have you spoken to her at all? How…how is she coping?"

"A little, when Alison first went missing. She put on a brave face but…you know," Brass shrugged his shoulders, letting his words trail.

"Yeah, I can imagine," Grissom murmured, looking stunned. _Oh dear God! _Suddenly realisation hit him and he jerked his head toward Brass. "And you think the dead body we're headed to now is hers?"

In reply, Brass gave a sad shrug of his shoulder.

"You're jumping to conclusions here," Grissom told Brass.

"Of course, I'm jumping. The question is am I right?" Brass asked impatiently. "And my gut says I am. That's why we need your help. The decomp's so far advanced that we're not going to get ID until we do a DNA comparison and Dave and Nick can't ascertain TOD without your help. Nick's doing what he can but…"

"…he's no entomologist," Grissom continued. "Even at best, establishing a timeline based on insect growth is going to take days if not weeks as we're going to have to rear the eggs all the way to the development stage they've reached on the body now."

"Well, that's your field and it's the best we've got," Brass said a little short-tempered. After a moment, having calmed down a little, he turned his head to his right to peer at Grissom. "And also," he added in a low voice, "I was thinking that…well, if it's indeed Alison's body, well…"

Grissom gave a weary smile, understanding what Brass was driving at. "You thought the news would be best coming from me."

Brass gave a small facial shrug. "Yeah, well. You know Heather best and she sure could do with a friend right now. It doesn't seem like she's got many of them." Brass once more trained his gaze on the road. "Welcome back to Vegas buddy," he muttered under his breath.

Grissom nodded, turning away to look out of the window, his mind focused on Heather and the distress she was undoubtedly experiencing. Would the woman ever catch a break? First her daughter and now her grand-daughter, would she ever find a semblance of happiness in her life? He could only begin to image Sara's heartache – or his for that matter – if anything were to happen to Noah. The mere thought made him feel sick. He doubted Sara would ever recover or overcome the trauma.

There was never a time when Grissom wished to rush to a crime scene as much as he did now and he understood now Brass's need to get there as fast as possible. The sooner he got started the quicker they could eliminate Alison Kessler from their list of possibles.

Brass was equally pensive as he kept his foot firmly pressed on the accelerator, maintaining a steady seventy miles an hour while the two men continued the rest of the journey in silence. The sun was steadily rising higher in the sky and the landscape gradually changed to that of desert and then mountains and yet the two men never noticed. They were pulling into the Ranger State Park's parking lot by seven am.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: As usual I love to hear from you. Good or bad, let me know what you're thinking.


	11. Chapter 11

Equipped with his day sack, Grissom struggled his way up the trail accompanied by one of Brass's uniformed officer due to relieve Officer Mitchell who had been up there all night. Brass had had to answer a call relating to another case and had to make his way back to PD. Grissom's climb was slow and painful on his legs as the steep rugged path wasn't very tourist-friendly, to say the least. Even before his accident such an ascent would have been hard work for the entomologist. Now it was testing all of his resolve. Even though the early-morning sun wasn't yet hot enough to be a hindrance he could feel its soft warmthradiating on his back, providing a bit of comfort against the biting mountain wind.

As he rounded the last corner Grissom was hit by two things; David Phillips's stunned expression at seeing the ex-night shift supervisor there and the unmistakable smell of decomposition. Grissom wrinkled his nose at the smell and then arched an amused eyebrow at David as he nodded his head once in greeting. He stopped long enough to catch his breath, have a drink and exchange a few words with the coroner's assistant before continuing his slow progress toward the crime scene tape as he made his way over to Nick.

The younger criminalist's back was turned and he was bent over what Grissom could only guess was the body, so deep in concentration that he didn't hear his old boss approach. The vials and jars laid on the tarp a few feet away caught Grissom's eye. Nick had been busy indeed, very busy in fact; as well as preserving multiple live insect specimens they would rear to adulthood he had also killed masses of maggots in alcohol thus preserving them for further study.

Grissom smiled warmly, feeling pride at his ex-pupil's achievements. First at the sheer amount of work he had accomplished in such a short amount of time as far as insect collection was concerned, but also at the young man's growth and development as a CSI.

Grissom moved a little closer and waited until Nick had finished framing his next shot before speaking. "So Nicky, what have you got?" he asked casually as if he had been working the scene with Nick all night.

Grissom noticed Nick's slight flinch and double-take at hearing his old mentor's voice as if he was wondering whether it was real or a figment of his imagination. After all, had he not been hearing Grissom's whisperings all night? The young man straightened up to his full height before turning round hesitantly, a wide grin of delight lighting up his features.

"Grissom!" he exclaimed, stunned. "What are you doing here? How are you?" Nick stuttered animatedly until a light came on in his mind. "Ah! So,_ you're_ who Catherine had in mind. She said she was sending reinforcements but that was hours ago and I'd given up. I certainly never would have thought that she meant you."

"Well, you know," Grissom replied smiling warmly at his protégé, "she can be very persuasive when she wants to." His face turned solemn as he looked past Nick toward the lake and asked without further preamble. "So what can I help you with?"

Nick quickly surmised his findings and got Grissom up to speed. "Come and take a look at this," he said pointing to the area he had been engrossed in observing when Grissom had arrived. "I took the liberty to clear that area free of maggots but I'm not sure what I'm really looking at. What do you think it is?"

Grissom stepped nearer and for the first time saw the small corpse. He couldn't help pinch his lips in disgust and had no choice but to avert his gaze at the sight before him as he tried to quell the queasiness. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut as he brought the back of his hand up to cover his mouth.

Eleven months away. Eleven months away from a crime scene of this nature. Even though he had prepared himself a little on the way up in view of what he would find, the discovery of a body this size always got to him. The last time he had been in a similar situation he was a stone's throw away on Mount Charleston when he had processed the discovery of Joel Steiner's body.

"Grissom?" Nick asked when his old boss still hadn't answered his query after a minute or so. "Griss?"

"Huh?"

"What do you think it is?" Nick repeated softly.

Grissom blinked a few times and gave a small cough in an attempt to swallow the knot that had formed in his throat. He then made himself look back at the spot where Nick was still pointing to, Brass's words echoing in his mind. _The little girl who's missing is her grand-daughter._ He needed to approach this case as a scientist, as a criminalist who would remain detached and impartial. He could not afford to respond to this case as Heather's friend or his judgement would be clouded and it would only affect the case.

_That's right pal,_ he told himself. _Stay detached. Just do what you've always done. This is just another crime scene; nothing more at this stage._

He stepped in the water and crouched down, peering intently at the top half of the torso. Most of the head tissue had been eaten away by the maggots. By the looks of it, Nick had cleared a small area free of bugs on the body's sternum. The entomologist quickly removed his sunglasses and got his reading glasses out of his jacket pocket and slipped them on. Something was shimmering, embedded in the blackened rotting bloated flesh, under the sun light.

"Hard to tell," he said looking thoughtful. "Metal maybe? Some sort of jewellery? Perhaps a button?"

Nick nodded. "That's what I was thinking. We'll know more when we get the body back to autopsy."

Grissom nodded, his attention shifting to the insects nibbling away at the top half of the body. The bottom half lay still untouched in the black bin liner. "It's in bad shape," Grissom remarked.

"Yeah."

Then something on the body caught Grissom's eye and he bent down to take a closer look. "Can you pass me a pair of gloves, some tweezers and the magnifying glass please? I think I may have found something interesting."

"Sure." Nick moved to his field kit and did as he was bid. "What have you got?" he asked as he took up his place next to Grissom.

Grissom snapped the gloves on and carefully lifted a maggot from the head with his tweezers. He held it up at eye level and examined it attentively, his keen blue eyes fascinated by the wriggly form. "Funny," he murmured, perhaps as much to himself as to Nick.

"What? What have I missed?" Nick asked eagerly.

"You see Nick, if I'm not mistaken, these are Chrysomya Albiceps."

Nick bent nearer the maggot, peering at it. "Predatory maggots?"

"Very good, Nick," Grissom said with an appreciative, yet surprised arch of his brow. "I'm impressed."

Nick shrugged modestly. "Well, you know, those books you left behind are quite compelling once you get into them." He smiled warmly at Grissom. "And if I remember correctly, those predatory maggots arrive later than the blue and green fly maggots as they feed onto the larvae."

"Correct again," Grissom stated clearly impressed. "The meanest of cannibals," he quipped, "but very useful in forensic entomology. Their presence means that we could be looking at TOD at around twelve to thirteen days."

Nick gave a pensive nod of his head. _Longer than I thought. _"That's good," he whispered.

"How so?"

"Well, it means it couldn't be…" Nick looked down, letting his words trail.

"Nick, I know what you're thinking." Nick snapped his head up to look at Grissom in surprise. "Brass told me. But you got to keep focused on this and not let outside parameters cloud your findings. You know that what we're doing now is preliminary and mere suppositions – guess work even – and it all still remains to be verified in the lab," he remonstrated. "You can't get yourself ahead of the evidence here. And you can't make it fit your theory. There are too many variables to take into factor before we can draw any kind of conclusions."

His point made, he paused to let his admonition sink in, feeling a bit of a hypocrite for speaking a truth he was, for the first time in his career, far from beleiving himself.

"Point taken," Nick conceded after a while, nodding his head in understanding but his downcast mood told Grissom that he didn't like it much.

And despite what he had just told Nick, Grissom didn't like it much either; he just wished that they could get a definite result now and know whether the body was Alison's or not. Yet they would both have to learn to be more patient.

Grissom felt that Nick could do with brightening up and a change of subject was in order. "Brass said the bugs were causing you grief?" he said tongue-in-cheek. "Now I find this hard to believe. I'm impressed by how much you've achieved in so little time," he added, pointing toward the tarp.

"I've had a good teacher," Nick replied quietly.

Grissom nodded his head once. "What are you feeding them?"

"Ox liver?" Nick replied uncertainly.

"Lucky them," smiled Grissom. "So what else have you got? So far it looks like you have everything under control."

"Well, it was all textbook stuff until I got to the presence of the adult flies. As you can see, they're there and yet I can't find any signs of their pupae casings."

Grissom removed his glasses and took a few steps away from the body, taking a good look at the soil on the shore nearby. A little while later, he seemed to startle himself out of his reflection and he looked up at Nick, nodding his head for the CSI to continue his narrative.

"I checked with first officers on the scene" Nick resumed, "and as far as they can ascertain the body's not been moved."

"Well. Nevertheless. You're right," Grissom acknowledged. "The body has to have been moved post-mortem. If this was the primary dumpsite or if it had been dumped in the lake and started putrefaction in the water, those blue bottle flies would not have laid their eggs on it. For that to have happened, the body has to have been above ground."

"I was thinking that maybe a scavenging animal could have dragged the body here…"

"It's possible," Grissom cut in, "but then we'd find some drag marks as a result. It has to have been moved recently. I'd even go as far as to say within the last two days or we'd find evidence of pupae casings in the soil here."

Grissom stepped away from the corpse, removing his glasses and brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked around at the hills and peaks surrounding them. The lake was at the foot of a fairly steep rocky hillside with a little patchy vegetation. He saw a rugged path ahead in the distance meandering up the slope. As he turned on his heels to scan the area further, he noticed that the ground was a little soft underfoot. He smiled as he asked, "What's the weather been like the past few days?"

Nick shrugged wondering at the change in direction. He turned away from the body to look at Grissom. When he noticed Grissom's small satisfied smile, he turned his gaze to follow his old boss's, looking a little confused. "I'll have to check it to be sure but nothing out of the ordinary for this time of year," Nick said with some hesitation. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"That the ground's a little too wet underfoot."

Nick frowned. "Well, actually, now that you mention it, the night before last, we had some localised heavy rain. I don't know about here though. How does this help us?"

Grissom turned to look at Nick and arched his brow while remaining silent, letting the young CSI draw his own conclusions. Nick's gaze was still trained onto the hillside, the puzzled frown still displayed on his features. He removed his ball cap and scratched his head in thought. And suddenly, as if right on cue, his whole face lit up and he turned his head toward Grissom.

"You're thinking what I'm thinking?" Nick asked with a satisfied grin.

"You tell me."

"I'm thinking that the body was dumped higher up the mountain and that the rain washed it all the way down here."

"See that channel up there carved into the rock?" Grissom asked, pointing to a spot fifty yards up.

Nick put his cap back on and looked up, removing his sunglasses from his pocket to put them on. He nodded on seeing the channel.

"It's dry now," Grissom continued, "and if I were a betting man I'd bet that in heavy rain, as the ground gets saturated, rainwater must gush down the hillside through that channel like a torrent."

"Okay," Nick said, "that could explain how the body got to the lakeshore and wasn't discovered sooner. I understand this is a popular spot with fishermen." He paused and looked at Grissom.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Grissom with a slight nod toward the steep path half-way up the hillside.

Nick gave Grissom a baffled look. "What, now?"

"Well, we need to find the primary dump site. We need to find the pupae casings as they are the oldest stage of development we can definitely link the body to. I'd go, you know I would but I don't think Ecklie's paying me to go hiking, do you?" Grissom smiled wryly. "Oh, no, Nicky," he added with an exaggerated shake of his head. "I came here to study bugs." His face became serious. "Besides, to tell you the truth, I don't think I could manage it. Making my way up here was hard enough."

Nick smiled at Grissom's honesty. "Aye, aye, boss."

His camera still slung on his shoulder Nick walked toward his field kit and removed jars and paraphernalia that he would need to collect samples of soil or insects – if indeed Grissom was right. But when wasn't he? With a backward glance and wave at his mentor, he set off up the mountain.

As Grissom bent down toward the body, vial in one hand tweezers in the other, ready to collect a few more specimens his cell chirped twice. He raised his eyebrow in surprise at the sound. When he had secured his sample in the jar he checked the time on his wristwatch. 9.15 am. He smiled knowingly as he guessed at the sender of the message. He moved back to a dry spot near the tarp and sat down on a nearby rock. Slipping his latex gloves off, he eagerly pulled out his phone out of his pocket and tapped a couple of keys.

His whole face creased into a huge smile as he read. _Thanks for message, brought a smile to my face. Glad to hear you made it safe. Don't worry about calling, I know you're busy. Stanford is sorted. Take care of yourself and keep safe. Please, stay safe. We love you too. S._

One week. One week at the most. He had promised.

Grissom replaced the phone in his pocket and got up to look over Nick's insect collection. Satisfied that his colleague had done an excellent job of collecting and documenting all the samples, he sat back down to catch his breath, waiting for Nick to come back.

The young CSI returned shortly afterwards. "You were right, Griss," Nick exclaimed as he scrambled down the path. "Just round that bend up there," he said looking back over his shoulder to where he had just come from, "there's a bush. Near that bush, I found evidence of a lot insect activity near what appears to be a dried-up pool of something and casings too. A lot of them. I took samples of everything just to be on the safe side. Also," he continued, lifting an evidence bag with what appeared to be a ripped section from a black plastic bin liner, "I found this caught in a Blackbrush shrub."

"Good work, Nicky," Grissom said, accepting Nick's hand offering to pull him up to his feet. "I think we can head back now; we're done here. How do you want to proceed?"

"What do you mean?" Nick asked with a frown.

"Well, you're the lead on this."

Nick smiled at his mentor. "Well, okay. I'll tell David he's all set to prepare the body for transportation while we pack all this up. How about I ride back with him and you take all our little friends here back to the lab."

Grissom smiled. "Yes Sir!" he said with a small wink.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Today is a certain lady's birthday. Hence you get this update a few days early. She shall remain nameless, well almost! Happy Birthday Jem. I hope you enjoyed this small gift, it would have been a pint but I don't trust Royal Mail. I hope you have/had a nice day!

As usual, I love to hear from you. So, let me know what you're thinking; good or bad I appreciate all your comments!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: This is part one of a two-part chapter. The chapter was getting way too long so I truncated it. I'll post the other half tomorrow. Thanks for reading and reviewing. As you know it means a lot! :-)

* * *

"Look who the cat dragged in!" Robbins exclaimed on seeing Nick and Grissom enter the mortuary, smiling with evident pleasure at this impromptu visitor.

"Hello Al," replied Grissom with a half-smile, letting the door shut behind him.

Doc Robbins made his way to the autopsy table from the coolers and extended his hand over the corpse to shake Grissom's. "Gil, how good to see you!" he smiled warmly. Then his face lost its sparkle and turned grave as he added, "Sorry, it's under such tragic circumstances."

Grissom gave a small shrug as he returned his friend's handshake. "It's just the nature of our work."

"Yeah, still," replied the ME. "How long has it been? A year?"

"Give or take a few weeks," replied Grissom.

"Well, it's been too long but you do look good for it, Gil."

"So, Doc, what have you got for us?" Nick asked, interrupting the two men, keen on getting started. The more details they could find out about the body, the better they could narrow their missing persons search down and the quicker they would be able to identify the body. A child this age had to have been reported missing by his or her parents and be in the database. But more urgently, what he was keen on knowing and the question on everybody's mind was whether they could eliminate Alison Kessler from their list.

Al Robbins turned his attention to the young CSI. "Oh, how eager is the youth of today," he mumbled in good humour.

He gave a small sigh and donning his ME hat he became serious as he looked down at the body. He and David had spent the better part of the last hour and a half cleaning it up and had painstakingly removed the remaining insects. When he had peeled off the black plastic bin liner, he found that the bottom half of the body had been better preserved than the top half, the plastic having served as a makeshift barrier against the elements and the wildlife. He glanced up toward his audience and cleared his throat before commenting on his observations.

"The deceased is a Caucasian female," he started in his usual matter-of-fact tone, looking back down to the body. "From its size I would estimate her age at between five and ten years old but that's only a rough estimate at this point and we'll know more once I've measured the length of the femur during the post." He paused to look up at the two sombre faces across the table. _It's always harder when it is a child laying there_, he mused, sighing. "I'm uncertain as yet about hair or eyes colouring but I'll run some tests later." He put on a pair of gloves and gently plucked up a cluster of hair from the head. "From this, it looks like longish straight hair but I'll get it measured. As for prints," he shrugged, "the fingers are too damaged and degraded to be useful I'm afraid – not that our little Jane Doe's likely to be in the system at such a young age anyway."

"What about DNA, Doc? That's our best chance isn't it?" asked Nick.

"Yeah. But I have a strong feeling that it's not going to be as simple as a straight DNA match as I'm not sure how much of it has been compromised but I'll take a sample from the bone marrow anyway and get it to Wendy. But the state the body's in, she won't have much to work from."

"Anything else?" asked Grissom.

"Yes." Doc Robbins hobbled to his desk at the back of the room and picked up a brown paper evidence bag. He returned and held it out to the CSI's. Grissom motioned with his hand for Nick to take it. "She was naked from the waist up and bare-footed when she came in but was wearing some pants and underwear."

Nick opened the bag and brought it up to his face to look closely at the content.

Robbins was the first to ask the question on everybody's mind. "Is this what Alison was wearing when she disappeared?"

Nick shook his head no in response.

"Do you have any idea on…"

"COD?" Robbins asked interrupting Grissom. "Not so far. Nothing apparent to the naked eye but David was getting the fluoroscope ready when you arrived so we can take a better look inside together before the autopsy."

"It's all set now," David advised them.

Doc Robbins looked back over his shoulder and smiled at his assistant. "Thanks David." Turning back round toward the body he adjusted his glasses over his nose as Grissom and Nick stepped back a little to make space for the scanner. "Okay, so what do we have?"

David pressed a few keys, activating a device via the laptop computer attached to the X-ray machine which whirred into action. He positioned the scanner over the corpse's head and a black and white image appeared on an LSD screen mounted nearby.

The four men simultaneously turned their heads to look at the screen. "Well, that's interesting," said Robbins. "Our little girl's missing a few teeth. Her top two incisives and the bottom left canine to be precise. David, can you take a couple of stills of the area?"

Interested, Grissom peered at the grainy image. "Well, this will certainly narrow our search down. Could the teeth have been knocked out maybe? During a struggle?"

Doc Robbins shrugged. "Perhaps but judging by the relative position of the adult teeth below within the gingival, it looks like they could have fallen out naturally." He peered over the top of his glasses to look at Grissom. "By the looks of it, her bottom two incisives are the only two adult teeth through. All of the other deciduous milk teeth are still present and have not been replaced by secondary dentition. Those are the darker shadows that you can see there, below," he explained, pointing to the screen.

"Okay," Nick said, "maybe we can get an ID from her dental records."

"Not necessarily," Grissom said grimly. "Even if we get a good dental impression of the mouth, a child that age is unlikely to have any."

"Yes, you're right Gil," Robbing agreed, "but it's going to help reduce the age range. In view of this I can establish her age with a little more accuracy. An average child will start losing his or her milk teeth at around five or six."

Grissom nodded, turning toward Nick. "Okay. There's something else I want to check before we continue," Grissom said. "When Nick and I were processing the body at the scene, we noticed a foreign object embedded just below her sternum. Any evidence of that on the fluoroscope?"

David repositioned the scanner, lowering it down slightly over her chest.

"Stop there David, would you?" Grissom exclaimed as a dark shadow appeared just above the rib cage. "What's that? A bullet maybe?"

"I'm not sure that's the right shape," mused Nick. "It looks more like a shot-gun pellet…or the tip of a knife?"

"Let's see," Doc Robbins said, reaching for some gloves and his scalpel. He slipped the gloves on, made a quick incision and extracted the object. He held it up to the light for everyone to see.

"A small heart-shaped pendent," Grissom murmured as he examined it. _Maybe Heather will recognize this, _he thought. "Now that narrows things down," he said to Nick, getting a bindle from the ME's desk. He held it out for Robbins to place the evidence in.

Nick asked, "Doc, do you see a chain with it?"

Robbins peered at the screen, shaking his head no. "That's strange," he mused.

"Nothing's _strange_," answered Grissom. "Just unexplained as yet. It could have just broken off or maybe the pendent was placed after the crime." He looked up over the ME's shoulder to address David. "David, would you mind taking this to Trace? Maybe Hodges can get something from it. Can you also give him her clothes and the black plastic bin liner?"

"Of course," David replied taking the pendent from Grissom, the clothes from Nick and the rest from the desk.

"David?" Grissom called as the coroner's assistant headed for the door. "Tell Hodges to document it all first, will you?

"Sure thing," he smiled as he let the door shut behind him.

Doc Robbins then asked Grissom to reposition the scanner while he handled the laptop computer. They finished scanning the rest of the body in silence without finding anything pertinent to their investigation.

Grissom sighed. "Thanks, Al." He brought the index fingers of both hands up to his mouth so they were touching. He remained silent seemingly processing the information they had gathered. After a little while in contemplation he looked up and exclaimed, "Right. I'm going to continue set up the linear regression, see if we can establish time of death. Nick, get hold of Greg and get him to start looking through the missing children database and see if he can make up a list of names matching what little detail we have so far. Afterwards, I'll need you to come and give me a hand in the garage."

Nick nodded, not even questioning the fact that Grissom had just taken over the investigation.

"Meanwhile, I'll start on the autopsy," Doc Robbins interjected with an amused shake of his head directed at Grissom's directives. "I'll let you know as soon as I have more."

Grissom nodded. "Thanks Al." He walked out of the room without a backward glance.

Doc Robbins turned his head toward Nick and smiled. "It's like he never went away, isn't it?"

Nick gave a slight nod of his head in agreement. "Yeah. Too bad he's only back for this one."

Doc Robbins certainly agreed. "I say." _But what a way to come back! _he mused silently.

* * *

A couple of hours later and "Gil!" can be heard echoing through the CSI garage as Catherine strode towards Grissom, a huge smile on her lips. The ex-supervisor who had set up a small lab in one corner of the garage was peering through the eye piece of a microscope, seemingly studying the enlarged image of a maggot cross-section. He flinched slightly on hearing Catherine's voice and quickly lifted his head out of the microscope, smiling warmly at her.

"I'm so glad to see you," she carried on. "Sorry I couldn't fetch you from the airport. I was… never mind where I was," she reeled off, opening her arms to envelop him in a hug. "How are you?"

Grissom turned around fully to face her and returned the friendly embrace with a smile. "I'm good thanks."

She took a few steps back looking him up and down. "Well, you sure look it."

"So everyone keeps saying!" he replied mildly amused.

"Well, it must be true then. How's the family?" she asked with a smile.

"They're good," he answered, turning to remove the slide he had been observing from the microscope. "Sara would have loved to come but she couldn't get the time off," he lied rather convincingly.

"And how's fatherhood? Sleepless nights yet?" Grissom peered over his shoulder and raised an amused eyebrow. Catherine laughed. "I'm a mother, remember? It's not that long ago that Lindsey was little. Oh, how I miss it. Beats teenage surliness every time."

Grissom gave a 'wouldn't you like to know' quirk of his brow in reply to her question before changing tack. "Why didn't you tell me that Alison Kessler had gone missing when you called me last night?"

"Ah. We're done with the pleasantries then, are we?" she asked in jest. "Listen, Gil, I didn't want to influence your findings and also I didn't know whether you'd come if…if you'd known Heather was involved."

Grissom narrowed dubious eyes at Catherine's weak arguments. "I would have liked to have known all the facts before I made my decision, yes," he answered a little more tersely than he intended. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. "You handled the original investigation into her disappearance, didn't you?"

Catherine didn't like the tone of his voice as he asked the question. "What do you mean by that?" she retorted on the defensive.

Sighing, he took his glasses off and scrunched his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Catherine," he whispered. "I didn't mean to take my frustrations out on you. It's just that…it's been a long shift," he said, looking up at Catherine with a sheepish smile. He shrugged. "It's been harder to be back than I anticipated," he volunteered by way of an explanation.

She smiled sympathetically. "Well, that's only to be expected."

He nodded absent-mindedly. "So," he continued, "about Alison Kessler's case, I take it your investigation covered a lot of grounds?"

She shrugged her shoulders and held out the case file she had brought with her as she surmised. "We had little evidence on the scene itself, nothing useful anyway. A couple of witnesses saw a man carrying her away from Sunset Park, which we've got on camera, but who got away in a black Mitsubishi pick-up truck. Nothing more on that. Brass followed the lead on Alison's biological father…"

"Alec Foster?" he interrupted as he leafed through the file.

"You know of him?" she asked in disbelief.

Grissom gave one silent nod of his head as he looked down at the picture of Alison Heather had provided. Catherine took that as her cue to continue her account. "Brass brought him in for questioning…"

He looked up sharply. "He's in Vegas?"

"Was in Vegas," she amended. "By all accounts, he wanted to rekindle with Zoe. He's still got no idea she's dead."

"Does he know Alison's his?"

"Well, put it that way, if he didn't before he does now. Anyway, his alibi checked out and he went back east. Brass made sure of that. Heather got no ransom demand, just a weird telephone message. Transcript's in the file but I've got a recording if you want to hear it. It's disturbing, crept me out when I first heard it. But that was eleven days ago, we've had nothing since."

"Well," he turned and opened up his hand toward the bugs and microscope on the desk, "now we have this."

Catherine briefly surveyed Grissom's desk and spotted the Nick's crime scene photos. She picked the top one up and studied it carefully. "Do you think the body in the morgue is Alison?"

Grissom shrugged his shoulders. He was flicking through the file quickly scanning the pages, attempting to locate the tape transcript Catherine had been so spooked by. "Too early to tell," he told her, "but I hope not, for Heather's sake. I don't think she could bear it if it was. Remember what happened when she lost Zoe?"

Of course she remembered. How could anyone forget? "She has enemies?" she asked looking up from the photo, not deeming it necessary to answer his question.

Grissom gave a perplexed chuckle. "Sure, with a past like hers…" He shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Have you spoken to her?"

"No. Not yet. Not until I get the autopsy results. We found a pendent on the body, maybe Heather will recognise it."

"It's worth a shot." She looked around the garage. "Where's your side-kick?"

Grissom frowned in confusion. "Nick? He went home for some sleep a couple of hours ago and as far as I know Greg's still scouring missing persons."

"I might have to pull him off that when shifts starts," Catherine stated as Grissom returned his attention to the file he was holding and absent-mindedly nodded his understanding. "What about you?" Catherine asked.

Grissom finally located the message transcript he had been looking for. He read it three times. _Ingenuous on first impression, yet chilling. Someone who knows Heather well so she probably knows him too,_ he mused. _She is the key to this. I know it._

"Gil?"

"Huh?" he asked distractedly. He looked up to meet Catherine's expectant gaze. "You were saying?"

"Have you managed to catch any sleep?" she repeated.

He shook his head no.

"Well, you can always come and stay at mine. Lindsey will love to see you. Not that I get to see her all that often myself these days."

"Thanks for the offer but I've had better." He smiled at her puzzled look. "Jim's beaten you to it."

"Okay. Well, keep me posted and let me know if I can be of help. And do try not to take over _all_ my staff, will you?" she quipped. "I need to go and take care of assignments."

Grissom glanced at his watch. "A little early, isn't it?"

"Gil, you wouldn't believe the extra hours I put in for this place," she exclaimed in good-humour making her way out of the garage.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: More tomorrow. As usual, I love to hear from you. Let me know if you're still enjoying this!


	13. Chapter 13

Three hours later, a manila envelope tucked under one arm, his crutch held in the other, Al Robbins stepped into the CSI garage where Grissom was still engrossed in setting up his time line. The ME cleared his throat before getting his friend's attention. "Gil?"

The entomologist looked up with a start. "Al," he greeted with a surprised smile, "when I said I'd be in the garage that's because I thought you'd phone your results through, not come all the way up here."

"I fancied a change of scenery," the doctor answered mildly, "it gets too cold in the mortuary. And I also need to pass on a message from Judy," he continued with a smile. "When I mentioned that you were back, she insisted that you came round for dinner before you rush back home to your family. So here I am."

"Tell Judy, I'd love to, thanks," Grissom replied with a smile, turning fully to look at the doctor, a slight glint in his eye. "Does…does she still cook her roast lamb?" he asked hesitantly.

Robbins gave a small chuckle. "For you? I'm sure she will oblige. Besides, she wants to hear all about Sara and this beautiful baby boy of yours."

Grissom smiled proudly. "Well, I can do better than that. I may have with me a couple of pictures."

"Oh, she will love that," Al laughed. "Well, we'd certainly never have thought," he mused, shaking his head in amusement. "Anyway, I hope he brings you and Sara as much joy as ours have us, Gil. Hard work but certainly well worth it."

Grissom smiled again.

There was a slight awkward silence before Robbins turned serious as he opened the manila envelope he was holding. "Okay. Now the unpleasant part," he said, handing Grissom some pictures to look at.

The latter took out his reading glasses from his shirt pocket, slipped them on and looked at each picture carefully. When he got to the close-up of the throat he peered at it intently, narrowing his eyes at the shot. "Any idea on COD?" he asked, pointing to the bruise pattern just about discernible to the naked eye.

"Yes, I do," the doctor said gravely. "The small bones of the larynx were crushed on the left side and the thyroid cartilage – well what was left of it anyway – was fractured."

Grissom looked up from the photograph. "Any chance that the damage to the thyroid bone could have occurred post-mortem?"

"No. Judging by the bruising on the skin there," he pointed to the area of the neck in question on the photograph, "I'm almost certain that it happened ante-mortem and is our cause of death."

Grissom nodded thoughtfully. "Strangulation?" he asked with a slight inflection to his voice although sadly he was only looking for conformation.

Doc Robbins swayed his head from side to side in hesitation. "More like asphyxiation," he clarified. "She received a blow across the throat. Not a violent constriction but a blow."

"What sort of blow?"

Robbins shrugged his shoulders, hazarding a guess. "A punch, a kick…I found a trace amount of blood in the main windpipe and bronchial passages," he continued, "and a few asphyxial haemorrhages on the surface of the heart. In the absence of any other positive findings, I attributed death to bleeding into the windpipe from the blunt injury to the throat." He looked around at his colleague. "If it's any consolation, she would have died in a few minutes."

Grissom stared grimly at the photos he still held in his hand, not really seeing them. _What am I going to tell Heather? I've put off going to her long enough. She needs to know. _

Doc Robbins' next words startled him out of his thoughts and he re-focussed his attention on the doctor. "I've got a bit more," the doctor continued. "There were no external signs of sexual trauma – that's something I suppose – and I managed to ascertain that our little girl had blue eyes and blond hair."

_If I remember correctly Alison had blond hair and blue eyes, Grissom_ thought letting out a sigh. He looked up and nodded sombrely "I'll pass that info on to Greg."

"I've already taken the liberty of informing him," Al said. "I thought it might speed things up a little. Narrow his search down." He cleared his throat. "Also, judging by the formation of the bones or rather by the fact that the bones aren't fully formed yet – hence the presence of cartilage – I'd put her age at under six years old – which confirms our original estimation. The length of the femur indicates that she roughly measured between three-feet-twelve and four feet."

Grissom frowned and pursed his lips in thought. _Between three-feet-twelve and four feet_. He lifted his index finger at the ME indicating that there was something he needed to check. He quickly fumbled among the mess of papers, photos and microscope slides scattered on the desk and found Alison Kessler's case file. Picking it up he hastily turned the pages until he found what he was looking for. "According to Jerome Kessler," stated Grissom, "Alison was _about_ four feet tall."

"Have you spoken to Heather yet?"

"No," Grissom replied, glancing up from the file. "Not yet. I…I was waiting for the autopsy results and for Hodges to finish processing the pendent. Do you have anything else?"

"No. That's everything. I've sent samples of stomach contents to Tox and bone marrow to Wendy. We'll have more then."

Grissom nodded absent-mindedly but remained silent.

His business finished, Al Robbins picked up the crutch that he had rested on the corner of the desk by the wall and moved off toward the door. He turned round and smiled warmly at Grissom. "Gil?" he called. Grissom turned round slowly and met the doctor's gaze. "Let me know when we can expect you for dinner."

Grissom smiled. "I will. Thanks Al."

* * *

Meanwhile, Wendy strolled into Trace a wide mysterious grin on her face and crept up behind Hodges. "Have you seen?" she whispered loudly into his ear, making him jump.

Hodges looked round at Wendy and smiled goofily. "Are we playing ten questions? Goody, I love that game," he quipped, with a trace of sarcasm.

"No, Hodges. Have you _seen_ who's back?" Wendy continued, casually leaning back onto his desk.

Hodges returned his attention to the pendent he had been processing. "No. I've been cooped up in here, snowed under with swing's evidence and now I'm _told_ I've got to process this pendent _ASAP _as well as these clothes _and_ the bin liners. I'm good but not super-human."

Wendy shook her head at Hodges's narcissism. "Yeah, but do you know who you're processing this for?" she insisted.

"Are we…huh…still playing ten questions?" Hodges retorted, puzzled, "because if we are, now's not a good time." He changed his tone from professional to one slightly flirty. "How about after shift? My place?" he tried.

The DNA tech chuckled uncomfortably. "Nice try, David, but no. I'm going to be pulling a double as it is. Doc Robbins just dropped off little Jane Doe's bone marrow." She shook her head. "I'm still going to be here this time tomorrow."

"Yeah. Well, I hope we can prove it's not little Alison in the morgue," he mused. "Regardless, somebody's little girl's been…" Hodges started rambling but stopped abruptly. He turned his head towards Wendy, narrowing his eyes at her. "Hang on a sec. Back up a little. What's the story behind your giddiness?"

She raised both her brows in glee, grinning in delight at the fact that for once _she_ was the source of some juicy gossip, if her news could qualify as that. "So you really haven't heard!" she added in a teasing tone. "Fancy that! You'd better be thorough with this," she said pointing toward the pendent, "or the bossman won't be happy."

"I'll have you know that I'm always thorough…" he paused blinking in surprise, finally registering what Wendy had just said, "the boss…man is here?" he asked turning around. He craned his neck to peer through the glass windows of his lab. "Nooo," he exclaimed in distrust, "I don't believe you. _He_ would have come and told _me_."

Wendy shrugged her shoulders, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"He would have…told me," Hodges continued with some doubt, "wouldn't he?"

Wendy was still shaking her head, her features creasing into a fake sad face, pouting lips and all.

"What are you laughing at?" Hodges asked all trace of joke gone from his voice, looking very glum and disappointed.

Wendy was still visibly smirking when she caught sight of movement at the lab's doorway and she looked up just beyond Hodges's shoulders, her features softening into a warm smile.

Puzzled by Wendy's change of facial expression, Hodges stopped talking and looked quizzically at her. As Wendy's gaze was well and truly spellbound**, **he tentatively turned his head round to peer over his shoulders and his eyes almost came out of their orbits in astonishment.

Grissom, who had been standing there for quite a while now, enough to have caught the gist of the conversation between the two labrats, tilted his head to the side, his smile amused. "David," he began gravely, "have you finished processing the pendent and the clothes?"

Like a hare caught in headlights, Hodges stammered his reply. "Hum…No, Gil. Not yet. Well…I've," Hodges swallowed noisily, "I've taken samples of what needs to be analysed but I'm still waiting on the results."

_Gil?_ Wendy brought her hand to her mouth to cover her growing smile at Hodges's nervousness. Had he just called Grissom, Gil?

"Well, I'm going to need them," Grissom said. "So if you've not finished with them yet, I'm going to need photographs. Did you remember to document the items before you processed them?" he asked the Trace tech in all seriousness.

"Of course," Hodges replied reverently.

Hodges scrambled for the folder on his desk and held it out to Grissom who smiled a quick smile in thanks and turned on his heels. When he got to the doorway he hesitated and turned round to look at Hodges. "Oh, I almost forgot," he exclaimed with an exaggerated bow of his head. "Hello, David. Look who's back!" he smiled, winking at Wendy. Reaching for his cell phone, he left as quickly as he had appeared.

Hodges turned round to glare at Wendy who had stopped trying to stifle her laughter, openly cracking up. "You could have told me he was _here_ here!" Hodges muttered.

"Where would the fun have been in that!" she quipped giving Hodges a similar wink to that of Grissom's as she made her way back to her own lab, still chuckling to herself.

* * *

Wiping her wet hands on a dish cloth, Sara hurried toward the lounge to pick up the ringing telephone. "Hello?"

"Hey," whispered a soft voice at the other end.

"Hey," she replied, smiling into the phone on hearing the usual greeting. "How are you and how's your first day been?"

"Good."

Sara's smile faded and her brow raised a notch in disbelief at the sound of Grissom small tired voice. "I didn't think you'd call yet," she said walking back toward the kitchen. "Just hang on a sec," she added as she cradled the receiver between her shoulder and the crook of her neck, "let me get Noah down from his high chair."

"Is that him I can hear?" he asked a little more enthusiastically.

"Huh huh," she mumbled as she lifted the little boy into her arms. "He's just had his dinner and he's missing his daddy," she mused a little wistfully. "And I do too for that matter." Grissom remained silent at the other end. _Strange, normally he'd take the bait,_ she thought. "Where are you? Jim's?"

"No. I'm still at the lab," he replied. "This timeline is taking longer than I anticipated but Nick should be back soon to give me a hand."

"You sound tired," she hazarded.

"I am. It's been a long day." She heard him sigh and then noisily swallow, in discomfort maybe, before he uttered, "I…I just wanted to hear your voice; needed to know that you're both well."

"The case's that bad?" she asked, swaying from side to side as she slowly rocked Noah on her hip.

"Maybe."

It was obvious that something was weighing heavily on his mind and she stopped moving. "Gil, what's wrong? I can tell you're not telling me everything," she probed, her voice full of concern. "Are you going to be okay with this because if you're not, then just do what you can and leave. Come back. No one'll thing anything of it."

"Yeah, I know," he replied distractedly. "Listen honey, about the case…the reason I'm calling…I'm…I'm going to have to go and see Heather."

Sara frowned. "Heather?"

"Yeah. She's not doing so good right now."

_Heather is related to the case? _"She's your friend, Gil. You do what you got to do," Sara told him truthfully. She was well past feeling threatened by their friendship.

"I know. I just wanted to let you know, that's all."

Something was wrong, worse than he was letting on, she could tell. He was distracted, preoccupied, she would go as far as to say a little distant even. Whether he was trying to protect her from the horror of the case or because he wasn't sure how much to share about Heather, she didn't know. "Gil, is…is the case getting to you?" His lack of immediate response did nothing to assuage her fears. "I knew no good would come of this," she muttered perhaps more to herself than to him.

"I'm going to be fine Sara. I'll stay just long enough to help Nick set up the timeline." He paused. "I promised I'd stay no longer than a week, remember? I meant it."

It was her turn to remain silent now; how could she explain, put into words her irrational fear about his return to Vegas, her bad feeling that something dreadful would happen?

"Sara?"

She swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. "I know," she eventually replied in a small voice. She looked down and caught sight of her baby boy's big brown eyes staring lovingly at her. Her heart filled with love and she gave him a shaky smile.

The voice at the other end of the line shook her out of her reverie. "Listen, Sara. I've got to go. Nick's just got here."

"Okay," she said deciding against pressing for more detail. She had to trust him; heck, she trusted him implicitly. If he wasn't ready to tell her about it she could wait. He would tell her – in his own good time – but she knew he would tell her. "Say hi to him for me," she replied, her tone lighter. "And to the others too."

"I will."

"Gil, you…you just take care of yourself, okay? We miss you."

"And I miss you too. I'll call soon, I promise."

"Okay. We love you," she whispered but Grissom had already ended the call.

_Less than a day back in that place and already something's wrong. _She remained rooted to the spot, staring at the phone in her hand, wondering what that call was all about. A smiling, gurgling eight-month-old soon startled her out of her thoughts.

"Daddy'll be home soon, sweetie," she murmured.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: So, we have it… on his way to Heather's…mmm…

Thank you to everybody for reading and reviewing. I truly appreciate your support with this story.


	14. Chapter 14

Staring at the outside of Heather's house, Grissom had been sitting in the lab-issued Denali in the dark for the last few minutes trying to muster enough emotional strength to go knock on the door. He was about to finally make a move when his cell rang. Sighing, he checked the number displayed on the screen and recognising one of the lab's extension numbers, he greeted the inopportune caller with a gruff "Grissom".

"The results have come through on the pendant," he heard. "Eighteen carat gold with as you'd expect, a hallmark as well as a maker's mark, so I'm looking into that. Unfortunately, there is no usable trace on the item itself. Just generic mud – consistent with the crime scene location – and dead flesh. I sent it over to Wendy, see if she can get some DNA from it but…"

"I know…a long shot. Thanks David. Let me know if you get something from the clothes." Grissom's tone was brisk, ready to end the call.

"Sure," Hodges replied. "Grissom? Before you hang up, about the two pieces of black plastic bin liner you recovered from the scene…I've been able to establish that they both come from the same bag. The portion Nick recovered from the Blackbrush shrub fits nicely into a tear in the main bag. Nothing special about the liner, it's pretty much available in every hardware store. Dirt on the outside of the bag is consistent with soil and vegetation indigenous to Spring Mountains. I'm still processing the inside. Sorry I don't have better news."

"That was to be expected but regardless, that was quick work, David, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Now go tell Nick. It's his case. His evidence." Grissom disconnected the call and was turning his cell off not wishing to be interrupted whilst he talked to Heather when he noticed a light come on through the curtains in one of the windows upstairs. It was now or never. He let out a sigh and opened the car door.

* * *

Meanwhile back at the lab…

"Nick!" Greg called bounding into the CSI garage. "Catherine needs me to go process a hit and run on Tropicana. Should be straight-forward so I'll get back to missing persons as soon as I'm done."

"Okay," replied Nick. "How are you getting on?"

Greg shrugged. "There's a lot of missing children out there," he said solemnly. "You wouldn't believe just how many. Anyway, I started my search in Clark County, widened it to the whole of Nevada and then the neighbouring states; Arizona, California, Utah…you name it, I'm searching it! But it's been a little easier since Doc Robbins's news. I've left the computer running the search but it's going to take a while."

Nick looked at Greg with a puzzled frown. "What news?"

"What? You don't know?" Greg replied, bewildered. "I thought everyone knew."

"Wow, Greg. Slow down. Knew what?"

"That little Jane Doe can't be Alison Kessler."

"When did Doc say that?" Nick asked, incredulous.

Greg's smile dropped. "Well, he didn't _say it_ exactly," he started hesitantly, his previous confidence eluding him, "but he left a copy of the preliminary autopsy results for Judy to pass on to me and when I read his conclusions on her eye colour, I just assumed it was common knowledge. Surely, Grissom's realised..."

"Greg, you've lost me. Grissom didn't say anything to me and I was with him not a half-hour ago. What should we have realised?"

"That Jane Doe's eyes are blue."

"Both of them?" Nick asked as he rummaged on the desk for the autopsy results to check for himself.

Greg looked confused. "I assume so. There's no mention otherwise. And since Alison's got one blue and one brown eye, I thought everybody had realised that she couldn't be our Jane Doe," he added with a small shrug. "Anyway, where is Grissom?"

Nick's eyes widened as he realised. "He's gone to Lady Heather's. If you're correct this changes everything," he exclaimed, putting the file down. He scrambled for his cell and speed-dialled Grissom's number. He waited for the call to be connected and cursed. "Damn, it's engaged."

Nick looked up at Greg as the young CSI said. "Surely he knows; he's got to have realised. He's met Alison before; he's seen her photograph…"

Nick was slowly shaking his head in disbelief. "He'd have told me when he briefed me before he left and you know you can't determine eye colour from the photo in her file. It's just too dark. No," he said still shaking his head, "I'm sure he's got no idea." He paused. "And anyway, why go to Heather's now if he knew it wasn't Alison in the cooler." Nick sighed as he rubbed his face. "The investigation's moving very fast and Grissom's been out of the loop for almost a year, maybe he just missed it…I don't even know if he's had time to properly familiarise himself with Alison's file yet. After all, he keeps telling me not to assume both cases are the same."

"Well, it looks like he was right." Greg looked at his watch. "Listen, I've got to go. Try him again. If not, try Heather's, what have you got to lose?"

* * *

Grissom was standing a little awkwardly in the dark at Heather's door, evidence tucked under one arm, looking down at his feet when he finally saw the light come on inside. Glancing at his watch he realised that it was already very late in the evening and that maybe he should have called to forewarn her of his visit. Not looking forward to what he was having to do, he looked up as he heard her fumble with the lock. She opened the door slightly to peek at her unexpected visitor.

As her eyes slowly came up to his her entire body became still and she tilted her head to the side in astonishment. Her small smile, a first instinctive reaction at seeing Grissom, faded first and then she flinched, visibly paling at the realisation that his presence at her door would undoubtedly herald bad news. Why else make the trip to see her otherwise.

Grissom was about to say something when he saw tears rise in her eyes, blurring the clear of her gaze.

His eyes met hers full on and then darted down the length of her body before coming back up to her face. Shelooked gaunt, a shadow of her former self in her bed clothes. Her front, pretence, façade whatever one cared to call it crumbled in an instant. She just hand flew to her mouth as she gasped, "Oh, no…" tears spilling from her eyes.

"Heather, I'm sorry to come unannounced," he murmured clumsily. He tilted his head to the side as he swayed on his feet hesitating to go in and comfort her. "I need…May I come in?"

She edged back and opened the door wider to let him in, brushing away at her tears. As he came in she teetered unsteadily on her feet. He tried to grab her arm to steady her but wasn't quick enough and there was nothing he could do to cushion her fall, as she dropped to her knees, crumpling upon herself on the floor, great sobs of sorrow escaping from her.

Rushing to her side, he knelt down on the cold floor and pulled her into his embrace as she openly wept uncontrollably into his arms. He never heard the distant ringing of her phone as he tried soothing her as best he could. Yet try as he might he was unable to find the right words to reach her. He had expected to find his friend distressed, distraught even because of Alison's disappearance, but he hadn't bargained for the torrent of repressed emotion his visit would unleash.

And for the second time since he had known her there was nothing he could do but let her cry her heart out into his arms. As he had done then, when he had found her in the desert as she administered her own brand of punishment on Jacob Wolfowitz, he remained immobile, holding her tightly and rubbing his hand over her back until she calmed a little, her heaves gradually turning into sobs and then whimpers.

After many long minutes, she found the strength to push herself away from him and she looked at him with sad pleading weepy eyes. "You found her,"she gasped. "My God. They sent you…_you_," she whispered desolately, "to tell me that she's dead."

"No, Heather. No," he replied in a soothing tone as he gently brushed down her hair with his hand. "That's not why I'm here. Please, let me talk to you. Let me explain." He sighed and pulled her back in a tighter embrace, his cheek against her hair as he whispered in her ear, "Oh, Heather, I'm so sorry. I should have called first. I should have handled this better."

"Ali's dead," she muttered to herself not hearing his words.

"We don't know that," he continued softly, tightening his hold of her as he began to gently rock their bodies in a soothing motion.

"Then, tell me she's alive," she choked.

"Heather, please listen to me… let me explain," he said, pulling back from her. He softly lifted her head up with his hand whilst in the same movement lowering his face in order to make eye contact with her. When she averted her gaze refusing to meet his, he clasped her face between the palms of his hand and turned it toward him. He leaned in close to her, and talked very slowly, very quietly. "Heather, you've got to listen to me, please."

She shook her head at his words, her gaze vacant. "I already know."

"We don't know that she is dead," he repeated calmly, looking straight into her eyes. "We have no proof as yet. We have found a body but we don't know if it's her."

The look in her eyes was full of grief and sorrow. "What do you mean you don't know? How can you…?" She gasped as she finally understood the pained, almost pitiful look in Grissom's eyes. "Oh my god," she whispered as realisation dawned.

He moved to get to his feet and winced at the sudden sharp pain in his left thigh. "Heather, come on," he pleaded softly. "Let me take you somewhere more comfortable than this cold floor, somewhere we can talk and I can explain."

She was still shaking her head very slowly, eyes locked onto his. "I want more from you Grissom," she whispered. "I want you – need you to tell me that she's _not_ dead. Please Grissom, I beg you. Tell me she's not…" Her lips quivered as she dropped her gaze to the floor.

"Heather," he murmured kindly, taking her hand, "I can't tell you that, I'm sorry. However much I want to; however much you need me to, I can't. You know I won't lie to you."

Her pain and anguish suddenly turned to anger and rage. She turned a hateful look at him and spat, "Why are you here then? Why come? Go. Just leave me alone with my pain. There's nothing you can do." She lowered her eyes and muttered. "You're too late. You came too late"

Grissom hesitated as he said, "I know you're hurting and I can see that my coming here has upset you but…listen to me Heather, there's a chance the body we found isn't her." Heather gasped and once again tears spilled from her eyes as Grissom continued tentatively. "We recovered some evidence on it that could help…please Heather if you could just look at some photographs," Grissom pleaded as Heather was again shaking her head, "it could help us eliminate Alison from our enquiries."

After a little while she looked up at him with resigned eyes and he knew he had finally got to her. He silently helped her up to her feet and half-walked half-carried her to the couch in the sitting-room. "Eliminate her or identify her," she murmured as she sat down, her tone cold and distant.

She was right of course and he could only give a sad shrug in response. "Shall I make you a hot drink?" he asked as he leaned over to turn on the lamp on the coffee table.

She shook her head no and motioned toward the far wall instead.

Grissom turned his head and noticed the whisky bottle next to the empty decanter. He sighed. "Alcohol won't help."

"Don't be righteous," she snapped. "Of course it will. So does Valium. It doesn't change reality but it improves your attitude."

He jerked his head back in her direction in puzzlement at the vehemence and anger of her words but she turned her head away unable to face the reproach in his eyes. He slowly got up from the couch and went to pour her a drink. One whisky wouldn't harm – if anything it might calm her down. He placed the glass down on the coffee table and silently made his way back to the entrance hall. He closed the front door that had been left open all this time and bent down to pick up the manila envelope he had dropped when Heather had collapsed. He remained in the entrance hall for a few minutes trying to process what had just happened, wondering how he could possibly have done a worse job than he just had.

When he returned to the sitting room, Heather had gone. Her drink was still there, untouched but she was nowhere to be seen. He waited a while for her to come back and when she didn't, he ventured deeper into the house to look for her. He briefly looked downstairs and then slowly limped his way up the big wooden staircase. "Heather?" he called uncertainly as he got upstairs. "Heather?"

"In here," came her small hoarse reply.

He walked down the corridor and stopped in front of a door that had been left slightly ajar. He quietly pushed it open and realised that he was entering Alison's room. He found Heather there slowly rocking on a rocking chair, clutching a teddy bear close to her chest.

"I thought you had left," she whispered, her eyes looking down at the cuddly bear she was stroking. She inhaled noisily. "I'm sorry for my display, just now. Seeing you here…" she shrugged, "I just thought the worst." She looked up to look at Grissom and her expression softened as she said, pursing her lips into a small smile, "This is Ali's room when she stays here. I haven't touched it. It's exactly how she left it." She bit her lower lip in an effort to stop the tears that were threatening to fall. "You know she was supposed to spend the afternoon with me?" she continued in a small voice.

He walked further into the room and shook his head in confusion.

"When she was taken," she explained. "It was my turn to have her that week-end but I had an engagement and... If only…" She let her gaze drop to the teddy bear.

"Heather," he interrupted softly. "Please don't do this to yourself."

"I want to see her."

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to take me to the morgue and I want to see her."

"No," he said firmly. "I won't do that. Please, can you consider the possibility that it's not her?" He opened the envelope he was holding and took out the photos. "Heather, I need you to look at these items on the pictures and tell me if they belong to Alison."

She hesitated briefly and then nodded her head as she held out a trembling hand, taking the photos from him. She took her time to observe each picture in turn and shook her head every time. "No. These aren't hers," she said with conviction. "It doesn't mean anything though, does it?" She passed him back the pictures. "Where is she Grissom?" Her eyes welled with tears. "Each day that passes without her and another part of me dies with it. It's been too long. I know she's not coming back to me." A tear trickled down and she wiped it with the back of her thumb. "It's only a matter of time before you do too."

Grissom crouched down in front of her. "Heather, I don't know what to say except that we're doing everything we can to find her," he whispered. "But you've got to keep hoping. It's not like you to give up."

"I'm not as strong as you think I am," she interrupted, her voice barely audible. "I'm tired, Grissom. Every time someone knocks on the door, I think it's the police coming to tell me that they've found her…I haven't slept properly since she disappeared; I hear her crying, calling me, asking me to come and get her, begging me and I can't help her. I look everywhere and I can't find her. I…" her voice choked as she started to cry. "I'm being punished, Grissom. This is all my fault."

"What have you done to warrant such suffering?" he asked. Then he remembered the ominous phone message she had received. "Catherine told me about the phone message you received. Wasn't there anything…"

"I went through all this with Brass," she interrupted. "I don't know. He thinks it's someone from my past but I can't think of anyone. I've been raking my brain…" she shrugged the end of her sentence off.

There was no point in pushing her. Taking her hand in his he got up, pulling her to her feet in the same movement. "Come on," he said as he wiped her cheeks dry with his other hand. "You need to go to bed to try to get some sleep."

Heather let herself be led out of Alison's room to her own across the landing. She removed her robe as he pulled the bedspread back and she silently slipped into bed still clutching Alison's teddy bear.

Once Heather was settled he quietly made his way to the adjoining bathroom with the intention of fetching her some water. Once there, his trained eye zoomed in on the bottle of prescription pills on the side of the sink. He let out a sigh as he picked up the bottle. He didn't need to check the label to know what it contained and when he shook it the bottle sounded almost empty. He looked around the room and opened the wall cabinet. There he found a couple more bottles of the same pills as well as some sleeping tablets and painkillers. He grabbed the painkillers, twisted the lid open and popped a couple into his mouth as he dropped heavily onto the toilet seat. Sighing, he stretched his leg out in front of him and rubbed roughly at his thigh in a futile attempt at easing the throbbing pain. He wearily closed his eyes, torn at the decision he needed to make.

He couldn't leave her in the state she was in, could he?

* * *

Tbc.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Forgive me father for I have sinned...I've committed the one unforgivable act... only joking! Well, almost...

* * *

He remained sat in the same spot in the bathroom, head in hands, debating whether to stay or not for a long, long time.

Part of him – the man, the friend – was worried Heather would do something stupid. It wouldn't be the first time, would it? She seemed unstable and depressed. Her alcohol intake was worrisome to some degree but not as much as the discovery of the pills. And the last time she had been in such a state of despair, she had to all intent and purposes tried to commit suicide, even if indirectly. Then, he had stayed with her and hadn't thought twice about doing so but his selfless act had landed him in hot waters with Sara and he wouldn't be making the same mistake again.

The other part – the scientist – wanted to go back to the lab to carry on with the investigation, the timeline and missing persons; wanted to verify that it wasn't Alison lying in the morgue. There was so much ground still to be covered. He wondered how Nick was getting on but had no doubts about his colleague's ability to continue the timeline. They had coped without him for almost a year and would continue to do so.

Heather needed him far more than the lab.

There was nothing more to debate; his mind – or rather his heart, told him that his priority lay with Heather. He would never forgive himself if something happened that his mere presence there could have prevented. Besides, if the throbbing in his thigh was an indicator, he needed to rest or he wouldn't be able to stand, let alone walk the next day. As he tried massaging the pain away, his thoughts wandered to the cause of his injury and the plane crash he had survived, and ultimately to Sara and the second chance they had been given.

_She's your friend, Gil. You do what you got to do._

Sara. There was only one thing for him to do now. He hadn't wanted to alarm her before by sharing with her the details of the case but now the situation had changed. She had a right to know and he needed to inform her of his plans for the night. She would only worry otherwise. Not giving a second thought to how late in the night it was, he took his phone out of his jeans pocket, turned it back on and scrolled down the list of entries to _home_.

Sara answered before the phone on her end had finished ringing the first time. "Gil?"

"Hey," he whispered as he unconsciously continued massaging his thigh.

"I've been trying to call you." The anxiety in her voice was evident.

He pulled a slight face. "I'm sorry; my phone was switched off."

"I've been worried about you. Are you at Jim's? I tried calling there but all I get is the machine."

"No. I'm still at Heather's." He paused and closed his eyes and keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard he continued reluctantly, "She's not very well, Sara. I'm worried about her." He sighed. "She's such a mess, I hardly recognise her."

Sara gasped audibly. "I don't understand. What's happened to her? Has she…been attacked?" she asked hesitantly. Grissom remained silent debating how much to tell her, so she pleaded, "Gil, please don't keep this to yourself. Talk to me."

He let out a long breath. "She's taking…Sara, she's on diazepam; quite a bit of it judging by the number of bottles..."

"Tranquilizers?" she interrupted. "But why?"

He hesitated briefly; yet there was no need for him to keep this a secret from her. Inhaling deeply, he began, "Two weeks ago, Alison got kidnapped from the park. She's still missing…"

"Her grand-daughter?" Sara uttered. "Oh my god! No wonder she's a mess…poor woman."

Grissom sighed, feeling somewhat relieved at confiding his load. "That's not even the worst of it," he said as he rubbed his eyes. "Oh, Sara, I don't know how to say this…" he took a deep breath as he continued, "The body in Spring Mountains they need my help with, well…we think that…"

"Oh no!" Sara interrupted not needing for him to elaborate. When he remained silent she enquired, "Do you want me to come? Listen, I can be here in a few hours. I could…I could stay with her while you work."

"Sara no," Grissom exclaimed. He lowered his voice. "Thank you but I don't want you to do that. Please…For now, I'd rather you stayed home with Noah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. There's just too much going on here at the moment. I'd rather you were safe away from here." He took another deep breath. "Listen, I'm going to stay here overnight. Heather's sleeping now but she didn't take very well to my visit. Actually, I think I made things worse for her as now she's persuaded that the body we recovered _is_ Alison."

He heard Sara's deep sigh over the line. "What about you?" she asked softly, "Do you think it's her?"

He shrugged. "You know how this works. It's hard to tell at this stage. But there are some discrepancies, so we have to wait for DNA to come back." Sara remained silent so Grissom decided to change topic of conversation. "How's Noah? That tooth come through yet?" he asked with a soft smile ,attempting to lighten the mood and feign a nonchalance he was far from feeling, as he wearily rubbed his beard with the back of his other hand.

Sara replied but he could tell her mind was focused on Heather and after a while the line went quiet on both sides. It was Sara who broke the silence first. "Be there for her Gil. I can't begin to imagine my state of mind if something happened to Noah. Poor Heather, she must be beside herself. Just, be her friend. That's all you can do."

After his phone call to his wife he sat in silent contemplation for a little while longer. He was so truly exhausted after the events of the day that he found it hard to concentrate his thoughts into anything coherent. Sighing, he got up, took the bottle of pills and filled a glass up from the tap. He quietly made his way back to the bedroom, noticing that far from being asleep as he had hoped Heather was lying awake curled up on her side, puffy eyes staring blindly in front of her. He walked the remaining steps to the bed, placed the glass on the low table nearby and held out the pills for her to take.

Heather shook her head into the pillow. "No. I don't want them," she choked, her voice a low croak. "They've not done me any good so far. Can you just pass me the water?"

He dropped the pills on the bedside table and took the drink. Heather pulled herself into a sitting position and took the glass Grissom was offering. Her hand trembled lightly as she downed the whole glass. Grissom went back to the bathroom to refill it and padded back into the bedroom. Heather had settled herself back under the covers and her eyes were now closed. He watched her silently for a moment until her eyes opened suddenly and her watery gaze came up to his. Pursing his lips into an uneasy smile, he placed the glass on the bedside table and tiptoed away from her intending to leave her to get some rest. However as he got to the door he heard an almost inaudible whimper and stopped dead in his tracks.

He just couldn't leave her on her own, could he?

How long he stayed stood on that spot, with his hand on the door handle dithering at whether he should stay by her side or go into her guest room he wasn't sure but Heather's next words, mirroring his own from his last visit, took the decision away from him.

"Will you stay?" she whispered.

He silently turned round to face her and nodded his head with a sad half-smile.

How could he refuse? At that stage, the thought didn't even enter his mind. He knew exactly what it was she was asking. It wasn't that long ago that the roles had been reversed and that he had found himself in the exact same situation. He had asked the same thing of her then. And she had willingly obliged. He had been on the verge of losing the love of his life and now Heather felt she had lost hers. Well almost…but she was convinced that Alison had been taken away from her as a punishment of sorts never to be returned. And no reassurance from Grissom could change her irrational fears that Alison was already dead, however much he tried to assure her that there was still no evidence to prove that she was little Jane Doe.

No. He could not refuse. For he knew Heather was merely asking for friendship and companionship. Yes, of course he would stay to provide what little comfort his presence would bring; some moral support and guidance even at some level…all the things she had offered him when _his_ world had been crumbling. She couldn't stand to be alone; nor could he then. He couldn't even stand to stay in his own house then. Here, Heather was unable to stay away; her memories of Alison remained in this house. This was still a happy place to her.

There was one major difference though between their situation. When Grissom had – involuntarily or not – sought Heather's help, he had been in the position to do something about his situation. It had all been up to him. He had been the one in control despite his protestations to the contrary. In this case, Heather had no decision to take. She had no control over the outcome. All her money and possessions, all her begging and pleading couldn't bring Alison back.

He looked around the room briefly but saw nothing he could sit on. He hobbled round to the other side of the bed and gently sat on the edge. He slowly began to unlace his boots and toed them off thinking that he would just sit on the bed propped up on a pillow against the headboard. His leg could do with the rest anyway. He remained awake for a while in semi-darkness; the only light filtering in the room was the soft glow of the bathroom light.

However, truly exhausted by the events of the last twenty-four hours he struggled to keep his eyes open. It didn't take long for his body to give in to his need for sleep; his eyelids started drooping, heavy with fatigue as his head lolled to the side. A short while later, he woke up with a start, blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt at staying awake. He turned his head to the side to glance at Heather's back and noticing the slow steady rise and fall of her shoulders and regular breathing he decided to make himself more comfortable. Secure in the knowledge that she had at long last fallen asleep he shifted further down on the bed and let himself drift into a welcome slumber, fully dressed atop the bed covers next to her still form.

"Mmm…" he sighed contentedly as his tense body started to relax a little. It felt good. His breathing barely a low snore, he dozed off peacefully as images of Sara started to fill his mind.

_Sara. _His lips curved into a soft smile as the memories he held of her enveloped him; beaming a little tearfully at him as she proudly held Noah out for him to hold for the fist time; giggling as she blissfully jumped and splashed into the Pacific waves in Carate; and beautiful Sara, lying seductively on the hot Costa Rican sand clad only in her swimsuit.

His head burrowing deeper into the warm welcoming pillow, he began to stir and he felt himself harden as he dreamt about the last time he made love to her.

Just out of the shower, damp brown tendrils curling softly around her face, Sara was sat, nude, on the edge of the bed, rubbing moisturising cream into her body, a wistful smile to her lips. He stood watching her for a long moment as she performed her nightly ritual.

Nothing out of the ordinary, one would think. Yet that night something was different.

He became mesmerised by the slow deliberate movement of her hands over her body, getting steadily more aroused with her every move. She must have felt the caress of his gaze because she furtively glanced at him a knowing smile curling at the corners of her lips. God, she was so desirable. And instead of getting into his side of the bed as he would normally, he crawled his way over the bed until he was kneeling directly behind her. Taking a dollop of cream, he slowly rubbed it in his hands and delicately massaged it into her shoulders. Sara smiled, shivering slightly under his touch and then sighed in abandon, as she slightly tilted her head forward in response while he brushed his lips over the still warm and slightly damp skin of her neck to the soft point behind her ear.

Pleasure illuminated Sara's face. She arched her back to grant him better access. His tentative fingers delicately stroked their way from her neck to her throat to her right breast where his playful circles along the areola morphed into a gentle teasing of her nipple until he felt it harden.

He moaned as he shifted position and trailed kisses down her back following the curve of her spine. Her breathing quickened and his became more laboured as he struggled to take things slow. "God, Sara I love you," he murmured hoarsely into her ear. It was the only words spoken between them, but it was more than enough as it was coupled by their familiar moans, gasps and moments of love.

She leaned back onto him, raising an amused eyebrow at the feel of his erection on her back. Then, she inhaled sharply, tilted her head back further and locked her gaze onto his, eyes shining with yearning as she spread her legs open in invitation.

Fully aroused and ready to burst, he gently brushed his trembling fingers from the curve of her breast, over the soft arch of her stomach down to the curls and wetness of her sex while hungrily kissing her neck. He heard a soft whimper of anticipation, groans of pleasure as she stretched her arms up to pull his head down toward her. His mouth found the side of hers as his index finger found its way inside her and began its slow circular stroking of her clit.

"You're so beautiful," he moaned, as the mattress shifted and he felt a hand caress its way under his shirt, the other one tugging at the belt of his jeans. Fingers slipped into the waistband slowly unbuttoning them and pulling the zipper down to reveal the full extent of his yearning. He relaxed under Sara's touch, a soft gasp escaping his lips.

_Sara, _he thought longingly, lovingly. _Sara_. He frowned and sat up bolt upright in bed, his eyes springing open in alarm. He looked at the face bent over him and pulled back, horrified.

"Heather!" he exclaimed, "No!"

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Dare I ask for it? As usual I love to hear from you…


	16. Chapter 16

"Hey, Nicky, I'm off out." Catherine was leaning against the door frame of Nick's office as she spoke. "Gang-related shooting on Fremont Street. Riley and Ray are with me."

"Okay," Nick replied looking up from reading Hodges' Trace results on little Jane Doe's evidence. "Let me know if you need help."

"We should have it covered. Have you seen Grissom? He's not in the garage."

Nick glanced at his watch. It showed five-thirty a.m. "No. It doesn't look like he's back from wherever he is. I've tried calling him but no luck."

Catherine arched her brow in interest. "So he still doesn't know," she mused after a moment part-observation, part-question.

Nick shook his head in reply, returning his attention to his paperwork.

"How's the timeline coming along?" she probed.

"As well as can be expected so far," he smiled, looking up. "I'm waiting for Grissom to come back so we can start to extrapolate the rate of growth of the bugs taking into consideration the local ambient temperatures and weather patterns of the crime scene for the last few weeks," he elucidated enthusiastically, "now that we know what most of them are."

Throughout his short explanation, Catherine looked at him with a confused frown. "Okaaay," she said when he had finished talking. "I'll see you when we get back." Catherine gave Nick one last smile, turned to leave and almost bumped into Greg. "Have you finished processing the hit and run on Tropicana?" she asked the young CSI.

"Yep," Greg replied. "PD got the guy. He was DUI and crashed on the corner of Rainbow and Flamingo."

"Good. Put the paperwork on my desk when you've finished."

"Already done."

She slightly pursed her lips, bowing her head forward in appreciation. "How's your missing persons' search going?" she then asked him.

Greg lifted the folder he was carrying and shrugged his answer, stepping around her to get into the office. "Getting back to it."

Catherine smiled. "Well, good luck with that," she said leaving.

Greg came into the office heading straight for his desk and collapsed noisily onto his chair, rubbing his face with both hands.

"You alright?" inquired Nick.

"Yeah. Just a little cross-eyed from staring at the computer screen too long. Anyway," he continued, "you wouldn't believe how many missing children there are out there. This is what I got," he said tapping the file in hand. "In Nevada and the surrounding states, there are fifty missing girls matching little Jane Doe's description, _fifty_ in the last _six _months alone, would you believe it?"

Nick gave Greg a little 'doesn't surprise me' shrug. "Are you sure you narrowed the search criteria down as much as you could?"

Greg nodded. "Yep. Blue eyes, shoulder length blond hair, four feet ish, around six...No mention of a pendant matching ours or any missing teeth. The clothes don't accurately match what any of the girls wore when they went missing so I left that out of the search parameters. I'm thinking the clothes we recovered are not the clothes little Jane Doe disappeared in."

"Possible," Nick granted dubiously, "unless she came from further a field and isn't on your list."

Greg shrugged his agreement. "Anyway, most of the missing kids in the database are from suspected custody battles. Now in Clark County alone, there are two missing girls at present – who match our description," he qualified. "The first one," he paused to consult his notes, "one Amber Cruz is a strong suspicion of a custody battle. She went missing early September. Missing persons' bureau believes her father picked her up after school and then vanished. Father's Mexican so the likelihood that he's taken her across the border is high. The other one Ruby," he checked his file again, "Jamieson disappeared two months ago from Glendale."

"Glendale?"

"A small township north of Lake Mead."

"Okay."

"I'm going to start calling the parents to see whether I can find out more details. See if they can identify the pendant maybe…"

Nick cut in. "A bit early isn't it, to start phoning round?"

Greg shrugged. "The list is long and I'd like to make headway before the end of shift."

"Okay. Notify Brass if you get something."

"Of course." Greg hesitated. "Where's Grissom? I swung by the garage on my way over ..."

Nick shrugged. "Either he's still at Heather's or if he's got any sense he's gone to Jim's for some kip." Nick got up from his desk and stretched his arms as he rolled his shoulders. "Good work Greg," he smiled. He stepped round his desk and heading out, he said, "I see you later. I need to go check on my bugs."

* * *

"Heather, stop!" Grissom almost shouted as he firmly grasped Heather's wrist to pull her hand off him. She fought against him as though possessed and he repeated a little more calmly tightening his grasp on her wrist, "Heather please, I'm saying 'Stop'."

The carefully-chosen word had the desired effect and she immediately stopped struggling, surrendering to his stronger hold as she turned a bewildered look at him.

He removed her hand off him and cast it aside looking at her with such confused sad eyes, blue eyes awash with a mixture of emotion he was struggling to contain; piercing eyes that were incredulous and pained, so full of pity and regret that she could only stare at him back mirroring his expression,tears welling in her eyes.

His gaze darkened until he quickly turned it away from her to hide his disappointment, his growing anger but also his deep embarrassment and shame at having been so foolish as to let himself be caught in such a compromising position. Shaken and upset, he moved away from her and nervously swung his legs over the edge of the bed as he started to do his pants up with trembling fingers.

Without a word, she tried to reach out to him – a weak attempt at apologising maybe – and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. He flinched at her touch, recoiling instinctively and shrugged her hand off impatiently as though her mere contact was enough to brand him. He buried his head in his hands and gave a slow disbelieving shake of his head at the enormity of the situation.

Realising the terrible and sordid nature of her action, Heather slowly withdrew her hand and shying away from him, she continued to cry as she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed in a very low voice as she rocked herself on the bed. "I am so, so very sorry."

Unable to react, he remained silent, completely stunned, and completely numb. He kept his back turned away from her, miserably looking down at his boots on the floor. Because he was leaning forward, his wedding band, which he had removed from his finger on his way over to Vegas and which was threaded through a gold chain around his neck, worked its way out from under his shirt and was now hanging, glinting under the early morning sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

Catching sight of it, he delicately closed his left hand around it and tidied it back under his shirt close to his heart, while with the back of his other hand, he wiped away a guilty tear stinging the corner of his eye. Taking a deep breath in, he squeezed his eyes shut as if that mere gesture could erase the past few minutes and then he exhaled noisily through his nose. "Shit!" he muttered under his breath angrily, "What have I just done?"

"I'm so sorry Grissom," he heard Heather repeat through her tears but all the apologies in the world would not begin to make what had just occurred disappear, would not begin to rebuild their irremediably tarnished relationship. "I don't know what came over me. I…"

The sound of her voice startled him, as though he had forgotten she was still in the room so engrossed he had been in his own guilt-ridden chastisement. "You're sorry?" he murmured. His eyes sprung open and he jerked his head round to look at her, unable to conceal the anger that was threatening to overcome him. He stood up abruptly not bothering to disguise the shock and horror and disgust reflected in his eyes. "You're sorry?" he snapped at her furiously. There was a slight tremor in the hand he was running through his hair.

Heather flinched at the harshness of the tone of his voice. She lowered her gaze, tears still streaming down her face and pulled the bed covers tighter around her. She had never seen him angry, never heard him raise his voice, and never seen him lose his cool, his self-control before. She was scared; terrified she had lost the only true friend she ever had in a moment of madness, in the act of a desperate woman trying to seek some solace, some human warmth even if in a twisted way. She could tell his anger was partly born out of guilt, that in staying and in attempting to comfort her he felt he somehow instigated the whole situation.

"So am I," he whispered coldly after what felt like an eternity, his eyes blazing with disdain. He raised his hands up to his side and then quickly dropped them indicating his frustration at not finding the right words to express his conflicting emotions. He shook his head again in incredulity as he started pacing. "I know you're hurting and I understand that Alison's disappearance has unhinged you and that this," he waved his hand at the bed, "was probably just some twisted desperate way of looking for comfort and consolation but surely you've got to have known that my staying here for the night was done in good faith," he said, almost shouting. "Look at me Heather," he added, lowering his voice a notch when he saw her cower from him, not daring to meet his gaze. "I…I was merely trying to reach out to you and offer you some support and…I could never…" He stopped talking, struggling to catch his breath as the words tumbled from him faster than he could think them. He shook his head, dropping his gaze to the ground as he murmured, "How can you have misconstrued my efforts at comforting you for anything more? You know I don't feel this way toward you." He looked up just as her gaze came up to his and looking into her eyes he told her, "I love my wife. I could never do that to Sara. I…" He looked up to the ceiling and sighed. "I can't deal with this…I…"

Heather gasped and brought her hand to her mouth as her tears doubled in intensity. She hung her head and said nothing. There was nothing she could say to make this whole shameful mess better.

Without another word, Grissom turned away from her, stooped to pick up his boots and began to walk round the front of the bed out of the room when he caught sight of a framed picture of Alison sitting on the chest of drawers by the door. He stopped mid-movement and as he lifted the picture to hold it up to the light you could almost hear the cogs of his brain work into overdrive. Frowning, his gaze glazed over as he remembered Doc Robbins's words. _"I managed to ascertain that our little girl had blue eyes and blond hair."_

He left the room without a backward glance at the woman still weeping on the bed, shoved his feet in his boots without bothering to tie the laces and hobbled down the stairs as quickly as his sore leg permitted. Reaching for his cell, he quickly grabbed his jacket and folder and headed out of the house, wincing at the bright daylight assailing him. Dawn was breaking and he checked the time on his watch. Satisfied that nightshift was not over yet, he quickly pressed the keys to put a call into the mortuary. _Damn! How could I miss that?_ he scolded himself, shaking his head in annoyance at his oversight, his heart beating hard in his chest as he waited impatiently for the call to be connected.

"David?" he said eagerly as he got to the Denali, "Is Doc Robbins about? I need to speak with him. It's urgent."

"No. I'm afraid you've just missed him," replied the coroner's assistant. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Thanks David but no. It's something I need to check with him," he replied brusquely, ready to end the call.

"Okay. Do you want his cell number?"

"No, I've got it, thanks."

Grissom disconnected, scrolled down to Robbins's number and dialled. While he was waiting, he reached for the car key, unlocked the car and hurriedly got in.

"Gil?" came the reply on the other end. "I'm on my way out. Are you calling to tell me you're coming for breakfast instead of dinner?" Al asked in a jovial manner.

"Huh? No sorry," Grissom said. "It's about your findings on little Jane Doe's eyes," he continued without preamble. "As I recall, you stated that her eyes were blue, is that right?"

"That's correct," Doc answered confidently wondering where this conversation was leading. "Hang on; just let me unlock my car door." Grissom heard the door open and a crutch being thrown in as he waited for the ME to sit himself down. "Okay, so I guess if you're calling, you want more details. What can I tell you?" He hesitated a moment as he cast his mind back to the case. "I checked her right eye for pigmentation and there's no doubt, the ratio of eumelanin in the iris confirms it, the eye is blue."

"Did you also check her left eye?" Grissom asked.

"No, I didn't. Well, actually, it was badly damaged and I wasn't sure there was enough left of the iris to check. But it doesn't matter anyway. As you know the variations in pigmentation between eyes are minute. So in such instances, we generally conclude that both eyes…" Robbins paused, intrigued at where Grissom was going with this. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"Oh, Al," Grissom said wearily. "I don't know how it could have slipped my mind but I just remembered…did you know Alison Kessler had heterochromia?"

"No. You know I don't have access to missing persons' files." There was a slight pause. "Didn't Zoe have the same condition?"

Grissom sighed. "She did. In Alison's case, her right eye's blue but her left one's brown," Grissom explained.

Grissom heard Robbins's car door slam as he said, "I'll go back in and get on it straightaway. I'll phone you the results as soon as I have them."

"Thanks, Al. I owe you one."

Grissom threw the phone on the passenger seat, turned the key in the ignition and clicked his seatbelt into place as he slowly cast one final glance toward the house. He noticed the curtain twitch in an upstairs window and he closed his eyes with a sigh, putting the car into drive. Within seconds, his shaky hands grabbed the wheel and he was out of the gate in a blur, speeding down the road and headed for Brass's for a long hot shower and more painkillers. Just what kind of pain he needed to kill remained to be seen and with a little luck, he would be in and out of the house before Brass's return.

* * *

Tbc.


	17. Chapter 17

Grissom got to Brass's in no time and was pleased to notice that the captain's car was not in the drive. No third degree after all. The key in its usual spot, he let himself in and headed straight upstairs to the guest bedroom. There, he made a beeline for his travel bag, glad that Brass had remembered to drop it off, and took his pain medication out of his toiletry bag. The throbbing in his thigh was now more a dull painful ache but he knew that without his anti-inflammatory pills, he would not last the day as the pain would steadily get worse until it would get so bad that Grissom wouldn't be able to put any weight on his leg at all. He made his way to the adjoining bathroom, swallowed the pills dry not caring that he was taking them on an empty stomach and turned the shower on. He quickly shed his clothes and stepped in under the hot spray, intent on washing away the grime of the previous hours. He felt soiled and tainted. How long he remained in the shower, he could not say but by the time he had finished showering and getting ready, the aroma of frying bacon and brewing coffee instead of beckoning him downstairs as they would normally, sadly only informed him of Brass's presence.

There was no avoiding Brass, now.

Grissom slowly made his way down the stairs, carefully arranged his best poker face on and stepped into the kitchen where he found his friend dressed in slacks in front of the stove, merrily whistling, spatula in hand fully engrossed on turning over eggs that were frying in the skillet.

"Good timing, breakfast is almost ready," Brass said peering over his right shoulder. "God almighty Gil, you look rough!" he exclaimed noticing his friend's drawn and tense expression.

"Thank you," Grissom replied tersely, sitting down on a stool at the kitchen island. "Only yesterday you were telling me how good I looked."

Brass raised his eyebrow at Grissom's gruff tone but remained silent as he set their plates, coffees and cutlery in front of them. He seated himself next to his friend and tucked in heartily. "Tuck in," he told Grissom with his mouth full, "it's good, I promise."

Grissom picked up his fork and started cutting into his egg yolk without much enthusiasm.

"Shaved your beard?" Brass asked after a little while, giving the ex-CSI a sideways glance.

Grissom's eyes didn't lift from his plate as he mumbled, "Evidently."

Brass shook his head, smiling to himself, amused by Grissom's grumpy mood, a mood that the seasoned detective fully attributed to his visiting Heather. "Nick called while you were in the shower. By the sound of it he's been trying to reach you all night. Did you not pick up your voice mails?"

"No."

"Well, I'll update you then, shall I?" he asked eagerly, making a good show of ignoring Grissom's foul mood. "It looks like we're close to IDing little Jane Doe. Greg's finally got a hit on a six-and-a-half-year-old girl missing in Arizona. I'm meeting the parents at noon," Brass continued as he speared his egg yolk with his fork and dunked some of his bacon into it. "They're coming all the way from Fredonia. Their daughter, Rosie Perkins, went missing three months ago," he added as he chewed noisily. "I'd ask you to come with but your consultancy mandate doesn't allow you to be present in the interview, I'm afraid. So I'll ask Greg, it'll be good experience for him and he did do all the ground work."

"Fine," replied Grissom absently.

Brass wiped his mouth on a paper napkin. "Gil, have you heard a word I said to you?"

"Huh? Sorry, Jim. I've got a lot on my mind," he replied before taking a swig of his coffee.

Brass gave him an inquiring look. "I couldn't help notice…huh…your leg when you walked in, is it giving you jip? Is that what's bothering you?"

Grissom shrugged his answer.

Undeterred, Brass continued. "I'd have thought you'd be relieved that the body isn't Alison. Didn't it go well when you went to see Heather?"

Grissom was unconsciously rubbing his hand over his now-beardless left cheek. "No. She's…not coping at all," he said with a sigh.

Brass gave a single nod of his head in understanding. "That's only to be expected." He hesitated before asking, "Gil? Is everything all right? You seem a little distracted, to say the least." He pointed to the untouched food in Grissom's plate. "My cooking not to Sara's standards?"

Grissom turned his head to the side to meet his friend's gaze, offering him a paper-thin smile. "I'm fine. Just a little preoccupied, that's all." He picked up some bacon to prove his point and bit into it without much appetite.

"Okay," Brass muttered knowing that he wasn't going to get Grissom to open up. "By the way, she called."

Looking alarmed, Grissom jerked his head toward Brass. "Heather called?"

"What?" Brass stuttered as he tried not to spit out his sip of coffee. "No," he croaked before clearing his throat. "Sara did. Last night. She left a message on the machine. She sounds worried. Wants you to call her back."

"She'd rather I hadn't come, Jim, of course she's going to be worried," Grissom snapped back, looking away from his friend.

"Wow, Gil. You're wound up tight this morning. Don't take whatever's bothering you out on me. I'm the good guy here. I was just passing on an observation."

Grissom sighed noisily. "Sorry," he said, turning to look his friend in the eye. "It's all right," he smiled, finishing the last of his coffee. "I've spoken to Sara since. She's fine."

Brass picked up his fork and resumed eating, muttering, "Good. We wouldn't want it any other way."

Grissom let that remark pass and forced himself to eat a little more breakfast and when he couldn't stomach any more, he scraped his stool back noisily on the kitchen tile as he got up, picked up his plate and went to place it in the sink. His back turned away from Brass, he said, "Listen Jim. Regarding Heather, I'm going to get in touch with Jerome Kessler and see if he can't stay with her or at least keep an eye on her."

"Why? Are you worried about her safety?" the captain asked. Grissom shrugged and turned around to look at his friend who continued, "When she got that phone message, I put a couple of my officers on the look-out but it came to nothing. She hardly left the house at all and there was nothing suspicious to report at all. So after a few days I had no choice but to pull my guys out."

Grissom nodded. "Sounds like you were worried too."

"That message was chilling. Have you heard it?"

"No. I only saw the transcript. Anyway, I'm more concerned about what she could do to herself. She seems…unstable and I don't think she should be on her own. So if Jerome can't do it…mmm…would you mind if I stayed there rather than…?"

Brass made a surprised facial shrug as he cut in. "Sure. Whatever takes your fancy," he added a little edgily. After a while he asked, "Does Sara know?"

Surprised by the captain's change of tone as he asked his question, Grissom went on the defensive. "I'll take your concern under advisement," he muttered leaving the kitchen.

"Gil, come on," Brass called after his friend in a pleading tone, "don't walk out on this. I'm only looking out for you. I like Heather but you and her…"

Grissom popped his head round the door, interrupting, "Don't say anything you'll regret Jim. It's not worth it."

Brass sighed in frustration and was all ready to back down and apologise but Grissom had already walked out, letting the front door shut noisily behind him.

"Damn! What was that all about?" he said to himself.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Grissom told Nick as he hurried into the CSI garage, "I didn't get your messages until this morning. I appreciate you keeping me in the loop, though."

"No worries," Nick replied easily from the workstation. "I was just worried you…" he paused unsure how best to phrase his sentence.

"…hadn't realised that if Jane Doe's eyes were blue she couldn't be Alison?" supplied Grissom with a questioning smile. "I hadn't. Not until this morning anyway. I asked Doc Robbins to double-check just to be absolutely sure before I tell Heather the good news."

Nick looked confused. "Why? Could he have made a mistake?"

"Probably not but when I asked him about it, he mentioned that he'd only tested her right eye. He's going to phone us the results as soon as he's got them." He paused. "Brass's filled me in and he tells me Greg's search came up trumps," he said, smiling warmly at his colleague who was nodding his head enthusiastically, "that's good."

"Yeah, well. If it is Rosie Perkins, we've still got to find out what happened to her," Nick said with a small voice and a look toward their work.

Grissom nodded sombrely his assent. He rubbed his hands together in what he hoped was an enthusiastic manner. "Okay. So let's get started."

Nick and Grissom worked solidly unperturbed for the next couple of hours. Surprisingly or not – since Grissom was a master at separating his private and professional lives – the entomologist's attention was totally focused on his work and he was allowed a reprieve from the chaos and turmoil in his mind. His job was to observe and photograph the specimens of insects they were rearing, measure their growth and development – they would need to do that everyday – whilst Nick diligently input the data into the spreadsheet they had started the previous day. The plan was that they would then be able to exponentially extrapolate the insects' growth and work out an accurate time of death for little Jane Doe a lot sooner than if they had to wait for the insects to fully mature at their natural rates. It would take the criminalists four to five days as opposed to nearly two weeks.

Grissom spent some time explaining to Nick how to continue the timeline they had set up the previous days. He enjoyed teaching the young CSI who was a quick and interested learner, willing to put in the hours to get the job done. But suddenly the monotony of the task and tranquillity of the lab were disturbed by the ringing of a cell. Bent over his work in concentration, a puzzled frown on his face, Grissom didn't flinch or seemed to notice. At the sixth ring, Nick looked up from the laptop screen he had been staring at and glanced in Grissom's direction. He noticed and recognised the faraway look reflected in his mentor's eyes as though, instead of peering at the specimen in front of him, he was looking into the depth of his mind trying to recall some abstract fact.

"Grissom?" Nick called quietly. "Griss?" he insisted when he got no reply from his former boss.

The entomologist looked up with a start. "Huh?"

"Are you going to get that?" Nick asked with a chuckle, pointing toward Grissom's jacket on the back of the chair.

Grissom peered round and seemed to become aware of the ringing of his cell for the first time. Removing his latex gloves and the glasses that had slipped to the tip of his nose, he pulled the cell out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. Checking the name displayed on the screen, he opted to redirect the call toward his voicemail, casting Nick a quick smile coupled with a slightly guilty glance.

Nick smiled. "Screening your calls?" he asked in good-humour, stifling a yawn.

Grissom slipped his cell back in his pocket. "Something like that," he replied sombrely as he returned his attention to the maggot he had been studying. He swapped his glasses for ones with the magnifying lenses affixed to the glass and flipped the lenses down. Frowning he mused, "Interesting," then he looked up and said, "Nick, come take a look at this one?"

Nicked smiled as he got up, stretching his arms above his head. "I know that look," he said. "Have you cracked the case?"

"Not quite," replied Grissom moving over to make space for Nick. "Have you come across one of these before?"

Nick peered at the maggot while slowly shaking his head at the same time. Awaiting an explanation from Grissom about its origin, he was taken aback when none was forthcoming and he looked up to see Grissom remove the glasses he had been wearing and rub his eyes.

His concentration well and truly broken by the phone call and with an slight edge to his voice, Grissom abruptly said, "Listen Nicky, we're almost done here for today. You must be shattered. I tell you what. Why don't you go off home and get some sleep while I continue on this timeline."

Nick moved back surprised at Grissom's sudden change of mood. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't mind staying a while longer and help you finish up."

"Positive," Grissom said. "I think I still remember how to use the software and find my way round this place," Grissom jested uneasily.

Nick didn't need to be told twice. "Well, if you're sure. I'm beat so I won't say no."

"I'll see you tonight at the beginning of shift. And thanks Nick for the overtime."

Nick gave a single nod of his head in acquiescence, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and headed out toward the locker room.

With his younger colleague gone, Grissom sighed and sat down wearily on his chair. He took out the bottle of painkillers out of his pocket and shook out a couple. Then, he looked at his watch. Eleven am. He would have hoped to have heard from Doc Robbins by now.

Feeling restless, distracted and suddenly uninterested he abandoned his task and squeezed his eyes shut as he roughly rubbed his face. He had done a good job of pretending he was fine in front of Nick but now there was no need to keep the pretence. He was far from being all right.

He felt disgusted at himself, almost nauseous and certain that he was to blame for the whole sordid fiasco. He had seriously miscalculated the situation and was now paying the consequences. The events replayed in his mind and he shuddered. How could he have made such a monumental mistake? How could he have almost cheated on Sara? Granted, things hadn't gone that far but surely he had to have said something or made a move to encourage Heather to do what she had done. They had known each other a long time and had helped each other through hard times in the past and the line had never been crossed before. Why now?

She wasn't herself; she had needed human contact and solace. He wasn't good at reading people but even he couldn't deny that he had known. That's why he had decided to stay. He let out a sigh and a frustrated growl as he banged his fist on the desk, fighting to keep a lid on his mental torture. He cast a quick look around the garage to make sure he was on his own and satisfied that he was, he got up to shut the door and pulled out his cell. There was one call he needed to make; he just couldn't bear it any longer. He had to speak with her, tell her what had happened, he had to explain. His rage was big but the guilt he was carrying in his heart was just greater and slowly eating away at him. He was about to speed-dial her number when the phone rang in his hand.

Checking the display, he sighed, flipped the phone open and brought it to his ear. "Grissom."

"Gil, I've just got the results on Jane Doe's left eye. As predicted, it's blue. So now it's official; our little Jane Doe's not Alison Kessler."

"That's good," answered Grissom distractedly. "It just confirms what we thought. Brass is meeting the parents of a little girl who went missing in Fredonia, Arizona. We think we may have a positive ID, anyway."

"Okay. Let me know if that's the case. I'll need to start the paperwork to have the body transferred." There was a slight pause. "Gil, are you all right? You sound…tense, unusually so."

"I'm fine."

"Regardless, I'm telling Judy to expect you for dinner tonight and there's no arguing. Be there at 6.30 or the lamb will be dry."

Grissom hid his disquiet behind a soft chuckle. "Thanks Al. I'll be there with bells on."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I'm enjoying replying to your reviews almost as much as writing this story! As usual, I love to hear from you. So, let me know what you're thinking…your feedback help shape the rest of the story and brightens my day, keep it coming!


	18. Chapter 18

"Gil?"

Grissom jumped and looked up to see Ecklie standing in the doorway. The under-sheriff had managed to open the garage door without Grissom even realising it. "Damn it, Conrad, you scared me! Don't creep up on people like that," he exclaimed. He looked down, a little regretfully, at the cell in his hand and slipped it in his pocket; his calling Sara would have to wait.

Ecklie smiled a quick apology and said, "Sorry I didn't catch you yesterday. You know what it's like…"

"Yeah," Grissom smiled uneasily, "I think I can remember."

"Anyway, thanks for lending us a hand with this and coming so promptly. I'm sure you had to make space in your schedule and well, the crime lab appreciates it." Grissom nodded his head in acknowledgement. "So, how are you getting on?" Ecklie added.

Grissom looked at the under-sheriff nervously, getting hot under the collar, his mind still on the conversation he needed to have with Sara. "In what respect, Conrad?" he asked, wondering whether Ecklie was inquiring about his newly-complicated private life.

Ecklie looked at Grissom with a confused expression. "Huh…with the…" Ecklie waved his hand toward the bugs in the vials on the workstation, "case."

"Ah!" Grissomsighed in understanding. He shook his head to snap his thoughts back to the present and smiled. "As expected. Nick and I are still working on the timeline but we should confirm TOD in the next few days. It all looks pretty straightforward so far. Insects behaving and developing at the usual rates. Nick's doing a great job."

"Good. Well, now that we definitely know it's Rosie Perkins in the morgue, the investigation into Alison Kessler's disappearance can resume."

Grissom quirked an eyebrow at Ecklie's turn of phrase. "What do you mean, Conrad? I'm sure it never stopped."

Ecklie waved Grissom's comment off. "You know what I meant. Whoever's got Alison has not put a foot wrong so far. We haven't found a body so we've got to assume she's still alive. She's got to be somewhere."

Grissom nodded checking the time on his watch. It wasn't noon yet. He frowned. "So Brass has spoken to the parents already?"

"Yeah," Ecklie sighed. "They made it to PD in record time and they positively identified the pendant. They didn't know Rosie had been wearing it when she disappeared. That's why that fact was omitted from the missing persons' database. Even her dental records seem to match. Well, according to the parents anyway. Poor people. They were…shattered."

Grissom looked grave, his thoughts wandering to Noah. "Understandably so."

"They're hoping to take the body back with them today," Ecklie continued, "but I'm not sure that's going to be possible." He sighed. "Agent Baker of the FBI has already got in touch and they're going to be sending a couple of their guys to take over the investigation. They strongly believe – and have CCTV coverage to sustain that – that a woman lured Rosie out of a shopping mall in Fredonia – on the Arizona/ Utah border – while her mother's back was turned and then taken to a van. They have no idea who the kidnapper is. This happened some three months ago. They followed their trail out of Arizona onto Highway 89 into Utah but lost them in Zion National Park. Plates on the van were fakes and they recovered it there three days later, burned to a crisp. After that, from what I gather, they had absolutely no news, nothing...well, until Greg contacted the parents this morning."

"Well, we found the body in Spring Mountains; that's a long way from Zion National Park. It looks to me that maybe we have a travelling band. We'll continue with the timeline and pass on our findings to the FBI unless of course they want to take over. It wouldn't be the first time."

"No. They're quite happy for you to continue handling that side of the investigation. They'll need to talk to you and Nick at some point, though."

"Sure, the case file is detailed and up-to-date. Nick documented the scene well and all lab tests have been returned. The only results still pending are Wendy's. And of course, we'll do what we can to help."

"Well, okay," Ecklie said, straightening up from leaning against the doorframe. "It looks like you've got everything under control. Let me know if there's anything I can do to make your stay more…pleasurable."

Grissom didn't know what to make of that comment so he settled for, "I'll be fine but thanks."

Ecklie moved as if to leave but turned round and smiled a little tentatively at Grissom. He hesitated before asking, "And how have you been?"

The question took Grissom by surprise. "Good, Conrad," he said with a growing grin. "Actually, I'm having the time of my life. Honestly," he added on seeing Ecklie's unconvinced face. "The best thing I did was leave this place. You should try it some time."

Ecklie made a little disbelieving sound. "Don't you miss it at all?" he asked with visible interest. "The job, the puzzles, the science, the excitement when we finally get our guy…"

Grissom smiled at Ecklie's words. _Once upon a time_, he thought. He shrugged. "At first, I thought I would but you know what? I don't. Not at all. I don't miss all the deaths and devastation. I'm still involved with research and science. I still do what I love. I work days, I get my week-ends to myself, I don't have to be on call 24/7, I more or less pick my hours so they suit me, my commitments and my family. Most of all, I get to spend precious time with my family…" Ecklie was shaking his head in amusement at Grissom's enthusiasm. "The list is long, Conrad; I could go on indefinitely."

"So, I see. There's no chance I could talk you into coming back, then, is there?"

Grissom laughed and shook his head with a twinkle in his eye. "Save your breath Conrad for an argument you'd have a chance to win."

"All right," Ecklie said in good-humour. "I've got to go see the day-shift supervisor," he continued with a wiggle of his brow. "Performance and target setting meeting. I'm sure you remember those." He gave an amused chuckle at his humour. "I'll see you later."

"Bye Conrad."

* * *

After carefully tidying away all the evidence and equipment that they had used for their work, and cleaning what needed to be cleaned Grissom made sure all the insects were safely stored in their respective controlled environment until they would need to check on them the next day. His mind wasn't with the work in hand and he was grateful for years of practice that allowed him to carry out his task on autopilot. As he was finishing, two of the day-shift CSI's came in and told him they needed the space as they had a car being towed in for processing. Checking that everything was as it should, Grissom smiled and swiftly left the garage. Finding himself in a bit of quandary as to what to do with himself and desperate for some peace and quiet, he ventured further within the bowels of the lab grateful that he didn't recognise many of the techs there as all nightshift seemed to have clocked off.

He wandered down the corridor, past the familiar labs remarking that nothing had much changed since his departure. _La vie continue_, he thought idly. Automatically, his feet took him down the well-trodden path towards his office and it's only once he had got to the closed door, his hand on the handle ready to turn it that he remembered that it wasn't his office anymore.

_I wonder what they've done with it, _he mused with a curious smile.

He hesitated for an instant but his natural inquisitiveness got the better of him. He knocked quietly, wary of walking in on someone and when he got no reply, he turned the handle and feeling no resistance, pushed the door open a crack. Peering round the frame to make sure the office was empty he walked in and shut the door after him.

After almost a year, the office still had the same feel to it, the same positive vibe. He looked around from where he stood by the door worried to step further inside and disturb the tranquillity. He took in the changes and the space – it looked so much larger than he remembered it and so bare, uncluttered – the floor to ceiling shelves had gone as well as all the wall displays and also the couch he had hoped to use to have a little respite on and he counted three desks. _They've moved my desk round. Now, why didn't I ever think of doing that? _A feeling he couldn't quite put into words was pulling at his heart and he felt a sudden little pang of melancholy.

Something on top of the filing cabinets caught his eye and he stepped nearer, shaking his head in amusement. "So, that's where you've got to," he said, running his hand over the jar with a fond memory. He turned and looked closer at his old desk and noticing Nick's name on the plaque he gave a proud smile. _Couldn't have gone to a better person_. He walked round behind the desk and without a moment's hesitation sat down on the chair.

Ah, the sanctity of this office. He felt calmer already and more at peace with himself. He had once more shut the world away. He yawned. How many hours of his life, how many days, weeks even had he spent shut away in this office? He heaved a great sigh as his thoughts drifted to the previous night. He had been unfair and harsh on Heather; he had taken out his frustrations with himself on her and he knew he needed to make good on that before he left. There was no two ways about it. But first he would need to call Sara. He was struggling to keep his eyes open and before he knew it he was asleep his head resting in the crook of his arm on top of the desk.

Two hours later, two beeps from his cell announcing a text-message roused him with a start. He looked around self-consciously as he uncurled himself and stretched, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He smiled as he read the message: _Sneaked out between two classes. Hope you're ok. Thought you'd have rung this morning. I guess busy. How's Heather coping? Call, please? We love you. Stay safe. S._

His heart heavy, he sighed and tried to call her back. Unsurprisingly, his call went straight to voicemail. He thought about hanging up without leaving a message but instead when he heard the sound of her soft voice on the other end, he took a deep breath and said, "You don't need to worry. Everything's fine. Give Noah a big kiss from his daddy. We'll talk tonight." He was going to end the call when he added quietly, "Sara? I…I love you."

* * *

"Judy? Hi, how are you?"

"Dr Grissom! Hello and welcome back! I'm well, thank you," Judy replied eagerly.

"New haircut?" Grissom asked. To which Judy smiled bashfully. "I like it."

Judy touched her hair self-consciously as she stammered. "Thank you. How's the little one? Noah is it?" Grissom's brows rose in surprise at her enquiry. "I'm afraid the picture you sent Ms Willows? Well, it did the rounds."

Grissom smiled his understanding. "He's getting bigger and is as beautiful as his mother," he paused before adding with a wink, "thank goodness."

Judy laughed. "And Ms Sidle, is she well? Or should I say Mrs Grissom?" she amended with a similar wink.

Grissom smiled pleasantly and nodded his reply and after exchanging a few more pleasantries, Judy asked, "Anyway, Dr Grissom what can I do for you?"

Grissom turned serious. "Two things if you wouldn't mind. First, if I'm not back before night-shift starts, and I probably won't, would you make sure Nick gets this?" Grissom said, holding out an envelope with Nick Stokes scribbled on it.

"Certainly," Judy replied with a smile.

"Also, there doesn't seem to be any car available in the lot, so would you mind calling a cab for me, I need to run an errand."

"No problem."

"Thank you. And please, could you let the cab company know I'll be waiting round the front?"

"You got it, Dr Grissom."

* * *

As the cab alighted outside Heather's house in Summerlin, Grissom got his wallet out of his pocket and paid the driver for the fare. He got out and let his gaze adjust to the relative darkness outside. He noticed twenty yards up, parked on the opposite side of the road, an old vintage Mercedes, a non-descript station wagon and a black pick-up truck. He did a double-take on seeing the old Mercedes, thinking with a fond memory back to the one he once owned.

As he waited for the cab to pull away, he looked up toward the sky, remarking that heavy rain was imminent, before quickly crossing the road. Although barely four p.m., the afternoon was overcast and fast moving dark grey clouds blowing off Spring Mountains and Red Rock Canyon were looming in the distance. The temperature had dropped considerably since that morning and as a chill ran through him he wished he had thought to put on a warmer jacket before leaving Brass's.

_Brass_, Grissom thought. He would have to start mending fences. He had overreacted at his friend's concern and kindness and he knew it.

He rushed across the road and as he got to the open gate he had a peculiar feeling. He turned around with a frown and peered over his shoulder scanning the surrounding area as though he was checking something. He could not be sure why but all of a sudden he had the sensation that he was being watched. His first thought was that maybe Brass had put a tail on him but he smiled at his imagination and shrugged the idea off as fanciful.

He took a few more steps toward the house and casually turned round again, doing another visual survey of the drive and what he could see of the street. To his left, he caught a flicker of movement, a rustling of leaves, and a blurred form through the bougainvillea outside Heather's perimeter wall. He turned and stared in that direction for a moment but any movement ceased. There was no one visible in the street ahead. It was devoid of traffic, not unusual for this neighbourhood at this time of day, he thought.

He was being paranoid and a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Besides, Grissom had no way of knowing it wasn't an animal he had glimpsed at and not a person. He shook his head with a bemused sigh at his edginess; this affair with Heather had unnerved him a lot more than he had been letting on.

He walked ten yards or so towards the entrance of the house but the feeling persisted; that strange feel of being observed. He knew Heather didn't have surveillance cameras on the house but he looked up to check anyway. He had no reason however to imagine he would warrant anyone's attention so he chastised himself for being overly sensitive and his feet crunching on the gravel, he headed down the drive towards Heather's front door.

He knocked a couple of times and waited patiently but got no reply. He walked a little round to the side of the house and noticed a car parked in front of the double garage. Frowning, he returned to the front door and banged on it a bit more forcefully this time. Maybe she had seen him walk up the drive and was simply refusing to open her door. He tried knocking again. Still no reply. _Strange_, _her car's there. Maybe she's in the shower,_ he thought without much conviction.

He was filled with a sudden rush of anxiety. His heart started beating in his chest and adrenaline surged through his body as a dreadful thought lodged itself in his mind.

"Shit!" he muttered pounding on the front door with his fist as he called "Heather!" He stepped away from the door and walked a little back up the drive to take a look at the upstairs windows. A light was on in Heather's bedroom. _What if I'm too late? What if she's done something stupid?_ he told himself. _Why didn't I pick up when she called earlier? Maybe she was calling as a cry for help._

Panic was setting in and whereas only a few minutes ago he had felt cold, sweat was now beading on his forehead and he wondered whether he would need to break the door down to gain entry. "Heather, are you there?" he tried again, aiming his shout at the upstairs' windows.

He sighed and rushed back to the front door and tried the knob. The door was locked and wouldn't yield to his pressure. He took out his cell and called her number. He let the phone ring until the answering machine kicked in. He quickly ended the call and contemplated the crazy idea that he might have to call 911. He hesitated briefly before deciding that she might have left the back door unlocked. He started running round the side of the house, down a concrete path meandering past what he assumed was Heather's car, a path which he followed through a side gate and that ultimately led to the backyard. He turned again and reached the rear of the house. His heart was beating as though he had just run a race – a very unlikely occurrence on account of the state of his leg – yet he didn't feel any pain because of the adrenaline coursing through his body.

He took a couple of deep breaths and braced himself for the worst.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: I learned from the best, the queen of cliff-hangers...blame her not me! This chapter was busy and I hope you read carefully… What happens next? PAnd pease, as the site says, unleash your imagination!


	19. Chapter 19

As he got nearer the back door, he could see through the window that lights were on in the kitchen and loud rock music was filtering out through the window. His running slowed to a jog as he came to the realisation that he had unnecessarily panicked and he heaved a huge sigh of relief coupled with a slow shake of his head in disbelief at his idiocy. His breaths were now coming in gasps and he found himself inhaling deeply and releasing several deep breaths as he willed his heartbeat and breathing to slow down and his composure to return.

_Damn! What is the matter with me?_ he chided himself.

After a few minutes, he quietly rapped his knuckles on the door. He got no reply but this time he knew better than worry, attributing Heather's lack of response to the loud music. He tried the door handle, and feeling no resistance, he took one last deep breath and pushed the door open a little. Immediately, he picked up the scent of baking, a rich combination of vanilla and chocolate smells that wafted towards him and as he opened the door wider he let out a long sigh in reassurance when he finally caught a glimpse of her.

Heather was easing a knife through a nine-by-nine pan of brownies, making slow and deliberate parallel cuts. Without her make-up on, barefoot and dressed only in tight-fitting jeans and a silk cream sleeveless top, she still looked vulnerable, and for some strange reason more so now than she had done the night before but she also looked calm and collected despite the fact that her misery was still palpable in the air around her. Her back partially turned away from the door, she wasn't aware of Grissom's presence and scrutiny.

He knocked on the door frame again to get her attention. This time, she peered round with a start and her face lit up with a surprised sad smile. She put the knife down on the cooking island and brought her hand up to her face to wipe a stray tear that his coming had caused. He smiled ruefully to apologise for his intrusion and stepping fully into the kitchen, he moved toward the stereo system to turn it off. There, his gaze wandered to the fridge door nearby where a child's drawings and paintings were carefully arranged with magnets, filling the space.

With the music off, the room was filled with a sudden awkward silence that Grissom didn't know how to fill. Sensing this, Heather cleared her throat and said, "I made some brownies. They're Ali's favourites. Would you like one? They're still warm, just out of the oven."

Grissom slowly turned round and made his way further inside the kitchen giving an almost imperceptible nod in answer. He stood uneasily for an instant, hands in his pockets while Heather fetched a plate. She was offering him an olive branch, a simple start at rebuilding their relationship. He could meet her some of the way. He silently moved to the stove and picked up the kettle. He walked the few steps to the sink and filled it up before returning it to the stove which he lit. He knew his way round the kitchen and nothing had much changed since he last stayed. _Well, not quite the very last time I stayed_, he reminded himself. _I would rather forget all about that._

He could feel her gaze on him as he moved about the kitchen as he gathered teabags and a teapot. There was no doubt that his blue eyes were still showing some disquiet but hopefully not the coldness and hostility she probably had been expecting, and certainly not the contempt she could have feared after their previous encounter. He was moving about as if a little on edge and ill-at-ease partly because he was still a little uncomfortable in her presence but mostly due to his fright and panic when for a few minutes he had believed she had committed the unspeakable.

"You've injured your leg," Heather stated after a while, her tone mild, cutting into his thoughts.

He frowned in confusion, turned round and followed her gaze down to his left leg. Realising that she must have noticed his limp, he waved the concern off with a gruff "Long story" and turned his back to her to resume his task.

She smiled at his reluctance to confide in her. "You shaved your beard," she continued a little playfully. Again, her tone was one of statement rather than questioning.

"You're not wearing any make-up," he fired back, his tone surprisingly gentle, shooting a look at her.

She smiled. "Touché," she conceded with a slight tilt of her head.

She had tried to break the ice but he still kept his back to her. Heather busied herself, carefully setting the brownies on the plate while every so often casting Grissom throw-away glances as if she was waiting for him to say something else. In vain.

"Are there any more news?" she eventually inquired after another prolonged silence, "about…the little girl you found?"

"I can't believe I almost forgot!" Grissom exclaimed, turning around to face her. "That's the reason I came actually," he said sheepishly, feeling a little silly at his oversight."We believe we know who she is. We're still waiting on DNA but the parents recognised the pendant. It's definitely not Alison." His lips pursed into an awkward apologetic smile as Heather gasped, bringing her hand up to her mouth as a tear of relief ran down her cheek.

"Are you sure?" she whispered.

He nodded enthusiastically at her and for the first time his smile was genuine and heartfelt. "Positive. Also Dr Robbins' tests confirmed it. It's not Alison."

Heather brushed the tear away. "I feel for the poor parents, truly. Losing a child…" she shuddered. "At least now they can have some closure. The not-knowing is worse. You just keep thinking the worst…" she choked on her words but quickly regained her composure and looked up toward Grissom offering him a small smile. "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything."

"You did. You're doing it now." She sighed. "Grissom, I…I can't erase what happened last night. I can't explain what came over me. I just needed your touch and I crossed boundaries."

Grissom opened his mouth to tell her that she had done far more than just cross boundaries but she stopped him before he had a chance to voice his protestation.

"I know," she smiled, lifting her hand in a gesture indicating that she knew what he was going to say, "and I'm sorry. But maybe we could put it down to bad judgement on my part? I take all the blame."

"I can rationalise the reasons behind your actions but I'm still angry and disappointed…"

"With yourself?" she interrupted, tilting her head to the side.

He shrugged. "With both of us."

"You have a deep sense of what's right and wrong. You feel…guilty. I do too. That's understandable."

He turned away in discomfort. "It's more than guilt. I feel like I've betrayed Sara, her trust, that I've let her down…" He gave a little shake of his head. "I'll work through it."

"Are you going to tell Sara?"

"I have to," he whispered, shooting Heather a look out of the corner of his eye. "There's no other way. We've come too far to…"

"Do you want me to speak with her?" she asked in all seriousness, joining him at the stove.

"No," he protested vehemently. "It's something I have to do myself."

She put her hand on his arm and applied some pressure in an attempt to get him to make eye contact with her. "You didn't do anything wrong."

He gave her a quick sideways glance. "I made the wrong choice."

"You wish you hadn't stayed?"

"No." The kettle started its old-fashioned whistle as the water reached boiling point and Grissom took it off the heat. "I simply…I simply wish I'd stayed in your guest bedroom."

Heather opened a cabinet to get a couple of cups and saucers while Grissom busied himself with throwing a couple of teabags in the teapot which he then filled.

"Would you care to go sit in the conservatory while I bring out the trey?" she asked.

Grissom nodded his accord and walked through the French doors. He took a seat as Heather was setting the trey down on the glass-topped table. "Ah, the rituals of tea," he mused thoughtfully as he placed the cups and saucers on the table. She smiled as she poured the tea and then she sat down opposite him. They remained in companionable silence for a while, each engrossed in their own thoughts.

"Do you remember when we last did this?" she asked, breaking the silence as she helped herself to a brownie.

He nodded a little distractedly but didn't reply, seemingly preoccupied with his own thoughts as he stared at a spot behind her, possibly the garden lights that had just come on; he was stalling for time trying to formulate in his mind how best to ask what he really wanted to know. After a while he returned his attention to his host and smiled as he picked up his cup, blew some of the heat off and took a cautious sip of the beverage. With one last brief hesitation he decided to settle for a careful truth. "You seem a lot calmer today."

She chuckled. "Is this your way of asking if I've taken my pills?" she asked, arching her brow in amusement. "Rest assured, my actions last night had a sobering effect and I didn't much like what I had done. To you, to our friendship…and to your relationship with Sara." She passed him the plate of brownies. "I guess one good thing came out of it."

Grissom took a brownie, his brow furrowing in confusion at her comment.

"It's given me some perspective," she elucidated. "I threw out the pills."

"I tried ringing Jerome."

Heather nodded as she took a sip of her tea. "He's gone to his parents in Utah."

"I'd have thought he'd want to stay nearby, just in case."

"I think he's given up hope altogether. At the beginning, when Ali first disappeared, we tried but failed to comfort each other. I'm afraid we just didn't get on…same reason we separated all those years ago, I suppose. Again, I'm to blame. I'm not easy to live with, I'll grant him that."

"Well," Grissom paused hesitantly, "I was hoping he could stay with you but I can see that…maybe I don't need him to."

Heather narrowed her eyes at Grissom. "Oh my God!" she said putting her cup down on the saucer, "you thought I would…"

Grissom lifted his right shoulder in a shrug. "It had crossed my mind."

"I'm fine. Whatever last night was, it wasn't a cry for help, I promise." There was an uncomfortable silence and Grissom was putting the last morsel of his brownie in his mouth when Heather asked, "And how is Sara?"

The barest hint of a smile crept onto his face. "She's good," he replied after he finished chewing. "Very good in fact. We've never been happier. We've just got a house in Sunnydale and Sara's taken up high school teaching while I lecture at Stanford. She does three days a week, the rest of the time she …" but for some reason he stopped himself short of telling her about Noah.

Heather was smiling at Grissom's evident enthusiasm, happiness and love as he talked about Sara and their life together. "You've changed," she interjected. "You finally opened yourself up to another human being; and instead of making you vulnerable as you feared, you found peace, strength and contentment…You mere presence here today, so soon attests to how much you've grown as a man."

Looking a little embarrassed under such scrutiny he shrugged at her fancy wording as he stated, "I'm…just happy."

She gave a nod of her head in agreement. "And you got married too," she added mischievously.

Grissom narrowed his eyes, sneaking a look at the still bare ring finger on his left hand, a look which didn't go unnoticed by Heather who just continued smiling fondly. "How do you know?" he asked.

"You told me," she replied quietly. Grissom could only stare at her in puzzlement. "Last night, in the heat of your tirade," she elaborated visibly amused.

He arched his brow in recollection. "Best thing I ever did," he replied before realising his words could be misinterpreted. "Not the tirade," he amended quickly, "but getting married to Sara; I should have made the commitment years ago and save us both all the heartache," he mused reflectively. "Actually, no," he whispered, his face taking on a mysterious expression as he looked up to meet Heather's gaze, "that's a lie. That's not the best thing I ever did but it comes a close second." He looked down toward his watch and caught a glimpse of the time.

Heather was about to probe him further but was interrupted when Grissom suddenly got up to his feet. "Heather, I've got to go. I've got somewhere to be in a little while and I need to pop to Brass's to get changed first."

Heather nodded with a smile. Grissom suddenly remembered he didn't have the use of a car and began patting his pockets as he tried to locate his phone.

With an inquiring frown, Heather asked, "What are looking for? You car keys?"

"No. I came in a cab and I'm looking for my…" he smiled as he finally located the device in his inside breast pocket which he took out and held up to her.

"I've got a better idea," Heather said getting to her feet to get back in the house while Grissom quickly finished the last of his cup of tea.

She shortly returned with her car key, which she held out to him.

"What's this?" Grissom asked, puzzled.

"You can take my car. I won't need it. I'm not going anywhere."

"It's alright," he said, "I'll call a cab."

"Why bother? It's just sitting here, anyway. Just return it when you've finished." She smiled. "That way, I'll know you'll come back before you leave."

Grissom shrugged mildly but took the key off her as he returned the phone to his pocket. "It's going to be a few more days before I get to go home," he mused wistfully as he toyed with the BMW key fob for a moment. "Do you still drive the Cooper?" he asked with a concerned arch of his brow.

Heather laughed. "No. It got too small."

"That's right. I saw the SUV on the drive on my way in." He swayed on his feet a little before saying, "Thank you for the tea and brownie…and the car," he added as an after-thought, dangling the key in front of him.

"You're welcome," Heather smiled. "Hey, Grissom?" she called after him as he was leaving. "Thank you."

Grissom turned and nodded his head almost imperceptibly and was soon out of the door into the backyard. He made his way to Heather's SUV, unlocked it and slid behind the wheel. He was about to start the engine, when he thought better of it and instead he pulled his cell out of his pocket. Closing his eyes, he thought of Sara and the fact that by now, she would probably be out of her mind with worry at his lack of news and he felt a pang of sadness that he had let her down. Letting out a long sigh, he hit speed dial and waited.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: I hope you're not disappointed with the chapter. I love hearing from you! So leave a comment.


	20. Chapter 20

The end of day bell startled Sara out of her daydream and she pushed herself up from the back wall of the classroom, surveying her students with a smile. As though subjected to years of well-rehearsed conditioning, they all sprung to their feet at once at the first second on hearing the bell and began to chat as they gathered up their things.

Her smile widened at the sight. This was still so new to her. However late she had entered her new profession she loved it. She was still involved with Science, teaching it for the greater good without experiencing the death and devastation working in Las Vegas had brought. Strange how things happened and she could see the irony of the fact that she was still working in a lab, just a different type.

"Okay. Not so fast," she told her class loudly. "Make sure your names are clearly written at the _top_ of your papers and put them on my desk on you way out. I'll see you next time," she added cheerily.

_God, I can't believe I just said that. It's such a teacher-like thing to say,_ she thought with an amused shake of her head.

"Bye, Mrs Grissom," she heard some of the girls reply. They were good kids really.

_Mrs Grissom._ This would take some more getting used to. No more Sara Sidle. But she loved that too. Who would have thought, after displaying so much independence and caution toward the institution of marriage over the years, that she would readily accept to _belong_ to someone else? Well, not quite _belong_ but nevertheless she felt good about it and proud to be carrying her husband's name.

As the last student filed out of the Science lab Sara walked back to her desk and dropped into her chair with a sigh. She hadn't had a moment's peace all day. She toed off her shoes and quickly reached into her bag to switch her cell back on, hoping either for a text-message from her dear husband or better still a voicemail. She had been worried about him all night and then all day long and had strongly hoped that by now he would have found the time to call her to put her mind at rest after his night at Heather's but sadly he hadn't.

_I guess he was just too busy, _Sara pondered with a little shrug.

It wasn't that she didn't trust him – she did implicitly – it was just that he had sounded so downcast when she had last spoken to him the previous evening that she just needed to know that he was fine.

And truth be told she had been expected a call from him. These days, he had become a lot more thoughtful than he used to be as far as she was concerned and the lack of communication on his part struck her as a bit odd and out-of-character. Because she hadn't wanted him to worry about her worrying about him she had waited patiently for some news but when he hadn't rung by lunchtime, she couldn't stand it any longer and had sent him a text to let him know that she was thinking about him. What else could she do? How else could she show her support?

The grin on her face on discovering she had a voicemail from him said it all. _"You don't need to worry. Everything's fine. Give Noah a big kiss from his daddy. We'll talk tonight."_ A slight pause. _"Sara? I…I love you."_

"And I love you too", she mouthed into the cell as time stood still for a minute or two as she cast her mind back to the night he had left. It felt like an eternity ago but tonight would only be his second night away. She closed her eyes and sighed noisily. When Catherine had called to ask for Grissom's help she had tried very hard to put on a brave face for him and not show her apprehension about this unexpected trip back to Vegas.

_Vegas_, she thought with a sigh. She looked down toward her left hand and smiled as she stared at her wedding ring. Vegas, the place where he had proposed but not where they had got married. Their wedding in San Jose had been such a private and small affair. At the time, they didn't tell anyone but their witnesses. They hadn't needed anyone but their witnesses, the local mayor and their son – their precious Noah. The ceremony had been so simple, so romantic and so beautiful. She was dreamily staring off into space as she toyed with the ring on her finger as images of the two of them started to fill her mind. Sara smiled, her heart bursting with love in recollection. She would never forget the immense pride she had felt as she had watched the man she had waited ten years for, the man she had always loved, muster all his strength and courage as he had to walk to her on their wedding day.

_Gil._ She was so proud of him and of his achievements since the accident…their fateful reunion in the jungle. They only ever referred to the plane crash in the rainforest as 'the accident'. There was nothing she could have done to keep him safe there – hell, she didn't even know he had been on his way to find her – and there was nothing she could do to keep him safe in Vegas either. Sighing, she shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. _He is fine_, she told herself for the umpteenth time. If only he would just call. She was being silly. A few more days and he would be back. Back home. Back to their life together.

_Home. _Up until three months ago, Costa Rica had been home. They had stayed there until their extended visa had expired and it just so coincided that Grissom had been offered a job at Stanford he simply couldn't refuse. And as they said the rest was history.

So there she was; a high school Physics teacher who dabbled in a little Chemistry too. Who could ever have imagined?

_Not me_, she smiled looking at the wall clock. She had a couple of hours before she would need to head off to collect Noah from day care and head on home. Hank would be long overdue his walk by then. She took a swig of water out of the bottle she kept on her desk, gathered the pile of assignments she needed to grade and then began her slow task, her thoughts never far from her husband as she nervously kept an eye on the ticking clock hoping for more news.

An hour and a half into her work, she was startled byDebussy's 'Clair de Lune', the latest ring-tone Grissom had downloaded for her as he attempted to _educate_ her and _broaden_ her music taste – his words not hers. What was wrong with a bit of Kings of Leon, she wondered? She smiled in anticipation as she rummaged for the phone under the pile of papers on her desk.

"Hey" she heard by way of greeting even before she had time to say "Hello".

Her smile turned into a happy grin on hearing the soft lilt of his voice. "Hello, stranger," she replied, putting on her best carefree sexy voice, hoping to set the mood for their call. "I was wondering where you'd got to."

He cleared his throat before saying in a serious tone. "Didn't you get my message?"

_He obviously isn't in the mood for games._ "I did," she replied, her voice returning to her normal timbre. "I was just…" she shook her head, "never mind."

"Have I caught you at a bad time? I can call back later if…"

"No, no," she assured. "I was just grading papers. Besides, I've missed talking to you. How are you?"

"I'm good actually, infinitely better in fact." There was a short pause. "I've got good news."

"Jane Doe's not Alison?"

"How…do you know?" he asked. He sounded a little guarded. "Have…you spoken to Jim?"

Sara frowned. "No. I…huh…you don't sound as tense as last night, a lot happier actually, so I just assumed. But that's great news, Gil. I'm really pleased." _When are you coming home? _She desperately wanted to ask him but instead she said, "Heather must be so relieved. Have you spoken to her already?"

"Yeah. I'm just leaving her place actually."

"How is she?"

"She's okay."

"No more developments in the investigation into her grand-daughter's abduction? Have the guys got anything new?"

"No. Nothing. Since the message, they've ground to a complete stop."

Sara's frown deepened. "The message? What message?" On the other end of the line, there was a pause and a sigh as if Grissom was cursing himself for saying too much. "Gil?" she prompted, picturing his face at that particular moment; the clenched jaw, the eyes squeezed shut as he ran his hand through his hair debating with himself how much to share.

"Heather received a threatening phone call."

"Oh, no? What does it say?"

"Well, it's not what it says as such, more what it implies. The wording itself isn't threatening but the cold, calculated undertone is."

"When?"

"A few days after the abduction, I think. There's been no repeats since," he paused, "maybe, it was just a crank caller who saw the news and…"

"Oh come on Gil! You don't believe that anymore than I do," she cut in. "And how would they have got hold of her number? Did they manage to trace the call?"

"No, nothing usable."

"What's your thinking Gil, you must have a theory."

He sighed. "The lack of ransom demand suggests that the kidnapping wasn't motivated by money. And the message makes it personal to Heather. I think Heather knows the person who took Alison; she just doesn't know who it is."

"Well, if you're correct, you need to go back and talk to her, get her to look into her past at anybody with a grievance, a past client, a spouse…" Sara stopped herself short, shocked that she had got carried away and had found herself back in time when she was working cases with Grissom.

As if reading her mind, Grissom gave a soft chuckle. "Old habits die hard, don't they?"

"Mmm," she mumbled. "What does Jim say?"

"He's worried about her safety and he agrees that she's the key to this whole situation. It's getting her to see it and open up that's going to be trickier."

"Well Gil, if anyone can get to her, it's you. You're her friend. She might find it easier to confide in you than in Brass," she said. "How did it go last night? Did you get to talk?"

"Last night?" he repeated cautiously. He paused. "Huh…no, we didn't talk. Sara, huh…last night…" he sighed into the phone and she could imagine him running his hand in his hair in exasperation.

"What is it, Gil?"

He hesitated. "Last night…" he began tentatively but then said, "she scared the hell out of me. I really thought she had lost it completely, that she would…"

Sara could hear the pain, anxiety and fear in her husband's voice as he tried to explain what had gone on and her heart ached with his. Understanding what he had been through, she tried to lighten his sombre mood. "But she didn't, did she?" she said. "So don't think about it. Heather's a strong woman, she'll sort herself out." Grissom remained silent so she added, "And now? You said she's better?"

Sara heard the barely audible sigh of relief he released before replying. "She is. Today, she's a different woman. She even baked some brownies. I don't get how she could just..."

_I get it,_ Sara thought. _I know what it's like; the pain, the depression. _"She's coping the only way she can," she explained, her voice soft.

"Maybe."

"You did the right thing staying with her, Gil."

As though struggling for something to reply Grissom remained silent. After a while he said, "Listen, honey, I've been thinking. Christmas isn't far away and maybe we could take a trip during the break. We could take Noah to the mountains, somewhere with snow?"

Sara chuckled. _Snow?_ _Where had that come from?_ "Snow?" she repeated, her voice betraying both her amusement and disbelief that he could have come up with such an idea.

"Yeah, snow," he repeated quietly. "He's already experienced the heat, the rainforest and the ocean. Wouldn't snow be special for his first Christmas? Just the three of us?"

She was lost for words. How had their conversation gone from Heather to a Christmas vacation in the mountains? "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked seriously, wondering whether he was yet again not telling her everything lest she should worry. She tried a lighter tone. "Someone's not tampered with the real Gil Grissom, have they?"

He laughed. His soft chuckle filled the line and Sara remained silent as she breathed in the sweet sound. "No, he's still here. But don't worry about it," he quickly added. "It was a bad idea."

"No Gil, it's not that. It's just that it's a bit sudden and you've caught me off-guard, that's all. But I'm sure he'd love it and I would too. I haven't seen snow since my days in Boston."

"I'll look into it when I get home then." He paused. "Listen, Sara, I've got to go. I agreed to meet someone and it's almost time."

She raised her brow at his evasiveness. "You have a date?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised."

Sara giggled. "Sorry, I just thought you were a one-woman kind of guy. But hey, I'm open to…"

"Sara…" he said in a warning tone but her light cheery teasing was contagious and he found himself relax and his mood lifted as they soon fell back into their easy customary banter.

"You started it! Anyway, tell Catherine to take good care of you for me."

He laughed. "Yes dear. But I'm a big boy now," he joked. "But it's not Catherine I'm seeing. My _date _is with someone else," he whispered teasingly.

"Well, good for you. It was time you caught up with everyone. I'm glad you're making the most of your visit."

"How could I refuse the offer of roast lamb? You won't cook it for me!"

Sara let his comment pass with a chuckle. "Judy Robbins's?"

"Yeah," he said with a chortle, "I can't keep anything from you, can I?"

Something must have caught his attention because his voice quavered slightly as he finished his sentence. After a while, Sara asked, "Gil, what's wrong?"

He sighed. "I don't like being away, that's all. I wish you could have come with me."

She smiled sadly. "You know I couldn't. Maybe next time."

"I miss you…so much."

"I know. I do too but it's only just for a few more days…isn't it?" she wondered aloud as an afterthought. There it was again, the foreboding, that irrational fear that something would happen.

"Three at the most, I hope. Nick's doing a great job with the timeline. We should be finished sooner than I thought."

"Good because I know someone who's missing his daddy and it's not Noah."

"I'll make it up to him," Grissom replied. "I'm really going to have to go now or they'll send out a search party."

Sara heard the distant sound of an engine whirring into life.

"Okay. Send my love to everybody, will you? I need to go too anyway. Noah's waiting for me to pick him up from day care."

* * *

As he started the car, the first fat drops of rain were beginning to fall. Holding the phone with one hand and the steering wheel with the other, Grissom deftly turned the car round as he spoke to Sara. Signalling to turn right, he pulled out of the drive onto the road flicking the windshield wipers and headlights on as the menacing downpour finally started its deafening pounding on the car roof. "I will," he shouted into the phone a little distractedly as he peered through the wall of cascading water.

He listened to Sara say a couple more things about Noah while he concentrated hard on the road ahead for about half a mile as he was making his way out of Summerlin. Then he heard Sara say "I love you" as she wound down their conversation and he realised that he hadn't been paying much attention to what she had been saying. He returned the sentiment a little mechanically as he took another right turn on to Desert foothills Road towards the Summerlin express and downtown Vegas. "Give Noah a kiss and a hug, will you?"

"I will. Take care of yourself."

He was about to hang up when the car suddenly lost power and began to jerk forward as it gradually spluttered to a halt. "What the hell?" Grissom exclaimed, dropping the cell as he quickly checked his mirrors. He noticed a car's headlights a way back and judging it safe to stop, he carefully manoeuvred the SUV to the right easing it gently to the desert roadside. He applied the brake and put his hazard lights on.

"Gil? Gil, are you alright?" he heard Sara's distant anxious shout coming from his lap.

Grissom quickly reached for his cell and replied a little warily, "Yeah. Something's wrong with the car." He tried cranking the engine over, it turned over but then nothing. "It's just died on me. Honey, I'll see what I can do and call you right back, okay?" He quickly hung up and placed the cell on the dashboard.

Grissom tried turning the key in the ignition again, casting a look at the gas gauge; the needle pointed to ½ F. He tried starting the engine again. It ground ineffectually, but never coughed to life. He sighed and shook his head with annoyance. _In this damn weather too!_ Before unduly panicking and calling for a tow truck to come and rescue him, he thought about taking a look under the hood himself.

He never noticed the black pick-up truck which pulled up directly behind him. He was fumbling for the hood release catch, bent over, looking for the lever to pop the hood up when out of the blue, the passenger door was yanked open and a soaking-wet gun-wielding individual jumped in. Grissom turned and barely had time to react before he was looking directly at the barrel of a gun.

"You!" he gasped as he straightened up automatically bringing his hands up in the air.

* * *

Tbc.

End of act two.

A/N: On to the home straight…Well, if I can get over the wall that is the next chapter…Please, leave a review, they are greatly appreciated.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Thank you immensely for the wonderful reviews for the last chapter and for reading in general. As I'm sure you know by now, I really appreciated it. Maybe I should have injured Grissom sooner ;-)…not that I'm saying he gets injured…anyway. Enjoy!

* * *

"You!" Grissom gasped as he straightened up automatically bringing his hands up in the air.

For an instant the assailant mirrored Grissom's look of extreme shock but quickly regained his composure as he calmly pulled the car door shut after him, his gun still trained on the ex-CSI.

"Ah, Mr Grissom, you're not exactly who I was expecting either," he said coolly, before slowly shaking his head whilst making a 'tutting' sound. "I see I'm going to have to change my plans. You have quite a habit of getting in the way, don't you?"

Grissom's heart was in his mouth as adrenaline surged through him and he suddenly had a flash of understanding as everything slid into place. "It was you! _You_ took Alison. Where is she?" he asked. "What have you done with her, you son of a bitch?"

Smiling, the attacker raised an interested and bemused brow at Grissom. "Wow, I don't remember you so…loose with your vocabulary." His smile widened to an evil grin. "On the contrary, you always struck me as being very collected. I'd even go as far as say, cool." He dropped the smile and narrowed his gaze menacingly at Grissom. "Now, now, you want to watch that tone of yours. I will let this one pass but next time," the man stopped talking and grinned viciously at Grissom as he wiggled his brows, "Next time…well…we wouldn't want you to make a fuss. Do I make myself clear?" He let his words sink and to prove his point he slowly raised the gun in his gloved hand, his index finger on the trigger, until it was almost touching Grissom's forehead. Looking Grissom straight in the eye, he whispered, "Who knows what might happen then?"

Grissom held the man's gaze, trying to remain as expressionless as possible but couldn't help backing off a little as he felt the cold metal of the gun on his skin. He still had his hands up but he could feel them shake a little as he struggled to control the involuntary tremors that were already taking hold.

The assailant slowly lowered the gun from Grissom's forehead down to his chest as he instructed, "First, you're going to put your hands down on the wheel without making any sudden movement or do anything to arouse suspicion. We wouldn't want one of these passing cars to call the cops." He smiled again, seemingly enjoying this slow-paced kidnapping. "When this heavy rain's eased off a little we'll move to my truck."

Grissom continued his silent staring of the man but didn't move an inch not even to glance in the rear-view mirror to check the man's truck. Catherine's words when she had apprised him of the case came back to him. _He got away in a black Mitsubishi pick-up truck. So, it was you all along. Interesting, _thought Grissom, his mind going into overdrive as he attempted to devise a get-away plan.

"Go on, Mr Grissom, try it," the man taunted with an 'I dare you' tilt of his head, cutting into Grissom's thoughts. "I know what you're thinking. It's only natural after all; your human instinct at self-preservation. I'm going to make it easier for you. The way I see it, you have two choices. Either you comply of your own free will and you have my word things will go smoothly and you will be unharmed, or you try to make a run for it. So which one will it be?"

Grissom remained silent, engrossed in his own thoughts and very happy to waste time letting his attacker do the talking.

"Oh, but…may I point something out to you?" the assailant continued, "You were never very agile or quick on your feet before and you're wondering…" the corner of his mouth lifted into a wicked smile, "…whether you could out-run me with your," his gaze flitted to Grissom's left leg and he smiled, "injury. Take a good look around you, Mr Grissom. There's nothing but desert and more desert for a few miles and in this weather, you wouldn't get very far."

Grissom's expression was blank; trying as he was to patiently bide his time. _He seems to like the sound of his own voice and strangely enough isn't in any hurry to move. That could play to my advantage. _

"You're wondering how I know?" the man asked, distractedly shaking the wet hair out of his face as he continued with his monologue, "About your leg? I've been watching you."

Taken aback, Grissom frowned at the words.

"You're right," the man conceded in response to Grissom's unspoken question. "That's not strictly the case. I've actually been watching Lady Heather or rather her Dominion…and have been for a while now. I've been waiting for the perfect time to make my move. What happened, Mr Grissom? You had an accident?"

Grissom calmly lifted his brow in a 'wouldn't you like to know' manner but remained staring unblinkingly. _He's right, _he thought. _I can't escape. If I lunge for his gun and he pulls the trigger, at this range I'm a dead man. No, I need to be cleverer than him. He already made a mistake thinking Heather was at the wheel and he thinks he's got it all covered. Let's see about that. _

Grissom's poised self-control and non-response were beginning to rattle the man whose hand started to shake a little as he held the gun. The loud unrelenting pelting of the rain on the SUV was the only sound puncturing the sudden uncomfortable silence. Grissom thought it a good time to make his move.

"Give me the gun," he uttered calmly, his voice low. Showing a confidence he wasn't quite feeling, Grissom lowered his right hand and slowly extended it out toward the man. "Whatever this is, it's not you. It's not who you are. I _know_ that you're not a violent man."

The ex-criminalist smiled a crooked nervous grimace when he noticed the man's grip on the silver weapon tighten as he motioned with the gun for Grissom to raise his hand again. Unfazed, Grissom slowly complied but continued talking. "Tell me where Alison is and I'll let you go. You can leave the state, leave the country." He shrugged. "Otherwise it's only a matter of time before you get caught. We already know what vehicle you drive and we're getting close, very close to finding you. And I'm fairly sure you don't want to end up in jail, do you? It didn't do Chloe any good."

Grissom's arms were starting to hurt as he struggled to keep them upright and they gradually starting edging their way downwards, his elbows down to his thighs.

On hearing Grissom's mention of Chloe, the assailant's smug expression lost its lustre. "Don't you dare move another inch!" he snapped. "You're beginning to irritate me and test my patience." The two men stared at each other and Grissom relented and slowly brought his hands back up above his shoulders.

_Come on, Sara. I need a diversion. _

Running out of time, Grissom nodded to the gun trying a different approach. "Not your gun, is it?" he stated. "Smith & Wesson, a _Lady Smith,_ and as the name would suggest, it's more of a woman's gun. Not your weapon of choice I should think. Too messy. Was it a last minute decision, to take the gun?"

"Who cares about all that?" replied the man. "What matters is that I have the upper hand and wouldn't hesitate for an instant to shoot and I can assure you it would do its purpose. Small but deadly," he said pausing for effect. "But just to satisfy your curiosity, Mr Grissom, it was my late wife's. You remember her, don't you?"

Grissom involuntarily made a face as he recalled the case in question.

"I got it her as a gift on our first wedding anniversary." He paused and frowned as a thought came to him. "Oh, Mr Grissom, bravo. I see what you're doing. You're stalling for time. Very good. But I'm in charge here, so we do as I say."

Grissom smiled at the man while bravely holding his gaze. "And you like that, don't you? Being the boss. Having the power. Being in charge." He spoke slowly and deliberately paused between each carefully-enunciated word thus accentuating its meaning for emphasis.

The attacker inhaled deeply. "Shut up," the man spat quietly as he let his breath out, for the first time truly rattled by Grissom's words. His left eye started to twitch nervously. "Now, SHUT UP AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS ON THE STEERING WHEEL!" he shouted.

The ex-CSI couldn't help flinch at the sudden unexpected change in the man's mood and found himself complying, turning away so he was now facing the windshield as he began to lower his hands. He caught sight of his cell phone out of the corner of his eye.

_Come on honey, call. What are you waiting for? I need you NOW._

"Slowly, please, Mr Grissom," the man said, quickly regaining his restraint. "Spread them." Grissom obeyed and placed his hands in the 'ten to two' position on the wheel. "Good. You're a quick learner. Now listen carefully," the man continued, "Since I've had to rethink my plans, you're coming with me."

Grissom turned his head to the right to look at his attacker. "What are you going to do with me?" he asked before kicking himself inwardly for his lapse in self-control.

The man smirked in satisfaction. "Ah! At long last! A reaction from the ever-so-stoic Supervisor Grissom. Now, what am I going to do with you? Let's see." He paused for a moment as he considered his options. "Well, I could kill you here but that would leave a trace. So far, I've executed my plan cleanly and to the letter. And it shall remain so. Oh, but don't worry," he winked arrogantly, "I will think of a way. I am a patient man and I…we," he amended with a nod toward Grissom, "have all the time in the world. I have waited years for this and I shall relish every single minute." He grinned maliciously. "You're just a glitch, an unfortunate occurrence."

"Why wait all this time?" Grissom enquired, interrupting the man's diatribe. "Why wait all this time to make your move? If it is Heather you want, why not get her at home? She's been there on her own all this time."

The man's expression clouded. "You ask too many questions."

"Why not take her from the house though? You had ample opportunity," Grissom insisted keeping his voice deliberately low as he tried to win more time before the man decided that they needed to make a move.

"I needed neutral grounds, somewhere where Heather wouldn't have a home advantage. We both know she's perfectly capable of putting up a good fight."

"Why? Were you concerned you wouldn't be a match for her?" retorted Grissom very calmly.

The man's lips twitched into a nervous, hesitant smile but he didn't take the bait.

To Grissom, this flitting change of expression meant he had hit a nerve. _Come on, push a little more; you're getting to him,_ he thought so he said,"So you rigged her car. Once out in the desert, caught off-guard…" Grissom shrugged the end of his sentence as the carjacker blinked his acquiescence.

"Now listen carefully," the assailant cut in before Grissom could go on, "Although I'm thoroughly enjoying our little cosy chat, we can't stay here all evening. So, let's move." Grissom's gaze flitted to the rear-view mirror and for the first time caught sight of the black Mitsubishi pick-up truck parked directly behind them_. _"This is how it's going to work," the man continued, "You take the wheel while I direct you. We're not going far. If you try anything stupid, I'll kill you and then the girl."

Grissom didn't move.

The man snapped his fingers impatiently while gesturing with his head for Grissom to comply. "Come on, MOVE! What are you waiting for?"He frowned, seemingly pondering Grissom's lack of movement.** "**Oh, are you resisting? I like that."

Suddenly, Grissom's cell phone rang. The attacker coolly glanced at the device on the dashboard before lifting the gun and aiming it square on Grissom's temple. He picked up Grissom's phone with his free hand, and without looking at it, quickly ended the call before dropping it in his lap.

With the gun trained where it was, there wasn't much Grissom could do with or without a diversion. However, his best chance was still to stay in the car for as long as possible until his attacker faltered or until Sara raised the alarm – whichever came first. He had to be patient and get him to talk some more.

"How do I know you've not killed Alison already?" Grissom tried. "In fact how do I know you've got her at all and that this is not just a ploy at playing out your sick fantasies?"

"What? You don't trust me? And there I was thinking we were getting on so well." He paused and much to Grissom's surprise answered the question. "I thought I might have needed a little incentive to convince Heather to come with me without kicking up a fuss, so I brought a little something."

Not taking his eyes off Grissom, the man pulled a cell phone out of his coat pocket with his free hand and using that same hand pressed a few keys. He turned the screen toward his victim and played a twenty seconds video recording of a little girl playing in a backyard.

Grissom narrowed his eyes at the screen as he watched the video. He wondered briefly about Alison's location if she was allowed to play outside, in full view, where anyone could recognise her, where she could call for help if she wanted to. His gaze then flitted to the bottom of the screen and he checked the date and time of the recording. He gave a slight nod toward the phone and said, "How do I know this is Alison and not some other child?"

The man smiled. "Now, Heather wouldn't have needed to ask that question."

He let the video recording run and after ten seconds or so, Grissom heard a female voice call 'Alison' and the little girl turned around toward the phone and smiled. The ex-CSI had no doubt that he was looking at Alison and his heart tightened in his chest. He felt some relief at knowing she was alive and looked well but idly wondered why she looked so serene.

And at that particular moment he realised that if he fully complied with the demands of his kidnapper he would most probably be led to Alison's location. And that could possibly be their only break in the case.

He tried stalling for a little more time. He still needed Sara to raise the alarm. "How did you…get her to come with you?" he asked quietly.

"That's more like you; the Mr Grissom of old would have been asking that question from the start. As I recall, you're all about the how. It took a lot of careful planning. Besides, children are trusting – you might even say gullible. A few well-placed lies and a little help from narcotics was all it took."

Grissom's cell rang again. On the second ring, the man fumbled for it on his lap while keeping his eyes pinned on Grissom and tightening his grip on the revolver with his other hand, which he raised once more to Grissom's temple. "Someone's insistent and obviously missing you," he said with a quick glance at the illuminated display as he pressed the key to redirect the call to voicemail. He motioned with the gun, indicating that Grissom should open the car door and get out. "Come on, the rain's eased off and we've wasted enough time. We'd better make a move before this _Sara_ calls the cavalry."

As his left eye began to twitch again, the attacker closed both his eyes to blink away his nervous spasm, for the first time forgetting to raise and aim the gun at Grissom's head allowing him the opportunity to pounce. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, the ex-CSI lunged on impulse, his right hand ramming the man backward into the car door, while his left hand grabbed and turned the weapon away towards his attacker who cried out in pain and surprise. The collision sent the revolver flying into the air but not before the trigger was pulled. The first round barrelled out directly into the passenger seat missing them both.

For an instant, both men looked around in a frantic search for the gun and as Grissom caught sight of it resting on the middle console, he launched himself onto it at the same time as the attacker. Grissom got a hold on the gun first but the punch in the ribs he received was forceful enough to make him double over in pain with the gun still in his hand. Momentarily dazed, he tried weakly to protect himself from the punches while fighting off his attacker who was desperately wrestling the gun out of his right hand.

Grissom used the last of his strength to try to yank the gun away as he elbowed his assailant in the face, causing the latter to fly backwards toward the side window. Pointing the gun towards his attacker Grissom licked at the trickle of blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth. Wincing in pain, he muttered "Don't move" as he turned his body to get a better angle. He never saw the kick that struck him square in the jaw causing a second shot to be fired, its echo ringing out into the desert night.

And then, there was just…silence.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Damn! That was a hard chapter to write and I'm still not sure about it; I feel knackered just posting it. Please leave a comment, good and bad I appreciate it all!


	22. Chapter 22

This had been a hard day for the weary police captain. Brass stood up from his desk and stretched, working the kinks out of his neck with a head roll as he tried to ease the tension from his body. He was still feeling restless and edgy, this _affair_ with Grissom in the morning still sitting uneasily with him. The rest of the day, as he had expected, did not fare much better, the subsequent meeting with Rosie Perkins's parents taking its toll on the fatigued detective.

He was letting out a long contented sigh as he lay down onto his office couch when he heard the muffled ringing of his cell. Closing his eyes he got up again and strode across his office to retrieve the phone from his jacket, a warm smile lighting up his features on seeing the name displayed on the screen.

"Still playing the elusive husband, is he?" Brass asked in good-humour by way of greeting.

"Huh? What?" replied Sara. "How do you know?"

"Know what?" Brass replied with a small laugh as he made himself comfortable on the couch once more. "I was…just joking Sara, but what a pleasant surprise. A little chat with you is just what I needed after the day I've had. I'm bushed. So how are you and how's the little one?"

"We're good, thanks Jim," Sara answered a little curtly. "Listen Jim, the reason I'm calling…I'm worried about Gil. I…I think there's something's wrong."

Brass chuckled uncomfortably. "Well, something was definitely wrong with him this morning at breakfast too but you know what he's like. He'll get over it. This case is just…a little too close to home and probably getting to him a little. Besides remember, he's been out of the game a while now and he's trying to readjust to being here again…"

"No, Jim, you don't understand," Sara interrupted anxiously. "It's more than just that. Please, listen to me," she pleaded with urgency, "I don't mean it like that; I know this case has been tough on him but...I've tried calling him and...please, don't think I'm over-reacting...he's disappeared."

Brass laughed her panicking off. "What do you mean disappear? He can't have gone far. Have you tried all the usual places?" _Have you tried Heather's?_ Brass thought as he jadedly clenched his eyes shut rubbing his free hand over them.

"Jim! You're not hearing me. Listen to me. SOMETHING'S HAPPENED TO GRISSOM," Sara insisted, pausing to catch her breath after her outburst. Brass's laughing ceased immediately. Confident that she had finally got the detective's undivided attention, she lowered her voice and explained, "He's _not_ picking up his phone. He broke down and he told me to call him back and…"

The panic and fear in Sara's voice startled Brass and alarmed, the detective sprung to his feet to grab a pad from his desk. His face turned serious and an anxious frown appeared, creasing his forehead. "Wow, Sara, calm down and slow down, will you? I'm sorry about before. I didn't mean to imply that…" He sighed. "Anyways, you've got my attention now. But please start again and at the beginning, this time."

Sara took a few big breaths and began, "I was on the phone to Gil. We were chatting and everything was fine. I was winding down the call when..."

"What happened?" Brass cut in.

"I don't know," Sara snapped. "That's why I'm ringing. I need you to look into it. But something did, I know it did! Damn it Jim, are you going to let me talk?" she spluttered, the words tumbling out of her as her voice rose again in frustration and worry. Struggling to breathe she paused but failing to regain her countenance, she whispered, "Please Jim, will you just listen to me and trust me on this?"

Seriously alarmed, Brass slumped down on his desk chair. "All right, Sara. I'm sorry, I'll shut up. You talk and I listen, okay?" he said as he tried to appease her.

She was still breathing hard and she cleared her throat swallowing the knot that had formed there. "He said…" Tears filled her eyes and she cursed herself for not being able to be stronger and keep it together. Fighting the tears that were threatening to spill, she stammered, "Gil was on the road – he must have been driving – and he said that he broke down and that he was pulling over. He told me to sit tight that he was going to look into it and call me straight back but he never did," she reeled off, her voice quavering on the last words. "I tried calling him," she continued through her tears, "and he never picked up."

Brass let out a deep breath as he thought about his next words carefully. Mustering all the calmness and gentleness he was capable, he said, "Okay, well maybe it's just that he's in a bad area and he can't get a connection or his phone has run out of battery."

"No, Jim, you don't understand," she continued in a small voice. "We _were_ on the phone when he broke down and there were no issues with reception then. When I called the first time, it rang and then my call went to voicemail. Now every time I try all I get is his voicemail. I know he wouldn't just ignore my calls, Jim. He just wouldn't. Not after all that's happened…" she choked on her words. "I _know_ something's wrong Jim, I can feel it. I just know. I'm sick to my stomach. You've got to do something, please."

The distress and anguish in Sara's voice got to Brass and he knew she wouldn't be in such state unless she genuinely thought Gil was in danger.

"Okay, sweetheart, you really believe something's happened to him, don't you?" Brass finally said. "Are you worried he's had an accident? Is that it? Did it sound like he was involved in a crash? The weather's really bad out there at the moment; a lot of heavy rain. Did he say anything about that? Could he have skidded off the road?"

He heard Sara's sniffling before she answered. "No, I…I don't think so. All he said was that the car had died on him. Those were his words. He was calm. There was no panic in his voice. He didn't sound injured. He said he had pulled over. I didn't hear any bang. Oh my God, Jim, do you think he could have lied to me on the phone so that I wouldn't panic?"

"No Sara. I don't think that at all. What purpose would that serve? If he had needed help he would have asked for it. Just calm down for a minute and let's talk this through." When she didn't reply Brass continued with a little nervous laugh, "Come on Sara, if something's happened to him, we'll find him but you've got to give me a little more to work with here. Vegas is a big city. Focus. He must have said something else. Did he say where he was headed?"

Sara remained silent as she tried to steady her thoughts and cast them back to when they had been chatting.

"Sara? Are you still there?"

Her small voice came back on the line. "Yeah, I'm sorry Jim. I'm trying to remember. But my mind…"

"What time was this? When you talked?" Brass interrupted calmly.

"Hum…we got disconnected maybe a half-hour ago? I got chatting with a colleague so I didn't call him straight back."

"Okay. Do you remember where he was headed?" he tried prompting once again, thankful he had finally managed to curb Sara's tears.

"Hum…He said he was just leaving Heather's and…that he was going to Doc Robbins's for dinner. That's right," she said with a little hope in her tone, glad she could remember something pertinent. "We even joked about it." She paused. "But it was still a bit early for that, wasn't it? So maybe he was going back to yours to get ready or maybe he was going to pop to the shops to get Judy some wine or flowers or…" she let her words drift off in uncertainty.

"Okay. So if he broke down and had just left Heather's and let's assume he was on his way back to mine, he would have headed down toward the Summerlin express." Brass paused. "Okay, that's a start. We've got a route. Do you happen to know what car he was driving? Was it one of the lab's?"

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"All right, Sara. I'm going to call the lab and check if he signed a Denali out. They have a tracker system so if all fails we'll get to him that way."

"Jim, if he was still with the car, he'd have got a message to us by now. He'd have flagged a passing car down. He'd have done something…" She took a deep breath before adding, her words full of sorrow, "God Jim; I just hope he's safe."

Brass was starting to worry too. "I'm sure he's fine," Brass lied in a misguided effort to appease her. "Sweetheart, you just…sit tight. I'll call the lab and Heather, check with her if she knows where he was going. If I'm not satisfied with what I've got, I'll put an APB out on him, all right? That's all I can do for now. Meanwhile you keep trying to call him. Okay?"

"Okay," she sighed. "I'm late picking Noah up as it is and then we're going straight home. Please call me as soon as you know something. Just call me anyway. I'm going out of my mind."

"It won't be long. I'll call you right back. Sara, you've got to stay strong. Do it for Noah, will you?"

When Sara didn't reply, Brass grew concerned. "Sara?"

When she spoke next, her words were full of dread and she was overcome with a new wave of tears. "Jim, you've got to find him for me. I can't lose him now. Not now."

"I know you want more from me right now but I can't promise you anything, you know that. I'll do my best, okay? And then I'll call you back." Brass disconnected the call and sighing, he rubbed his face with his hands. _Where are you Gil?_

What happened next occurred in a matter of minutes. Brass dialled Grissom's cell number but as Sara had assured, the call went straight to voicemail. He then rang Heather's house hoping that she could narrow down Grissom's whereabouts.

At the third ring, he heard "Hello" and said a little more forcefully than he intended, "Heather? It's Jim Brass here."

"Oh." There was a slight pause and then Heather continued a little cautiously, "Captain Brass, how are you? Is everything okay? Have…have you had some news about…"

Brass understood Heather's hesitation. "No, no. I'm sorry Heather," he interrupted. "That's not what I'm calling about."

"No?" she asked in a hopeful tone.

"No," he reassured kindly. "This is about Grissom. I just had Sara on the phone and she tells me if was with you earlier?"

"Well, yes," she replied with evident relief, "but you missed him I'm afraid. He left a little more than half-an-hour ago. Is something the matter?"

"Well, we're not quite sure. We're not able to reach him on his cell and…I'm trying to find out what car he was driving. Do you know if he had one of the lab's Denalis?"

"No, he didn't. He told me he'd come in a cab so I offered him my car and he left in that. Why?"

Brass reached for his computer, went onto the DMV database and keyed in Heather's details. "Do you know where he was headed by any chance?"

"Back to yours, I believe. He said he needed to change, that he had an engagement later on this evening. Why all the questions? Has something happened to him?"

Heather's DMV details appeared on the screen and Brass asked, "Do you still own a midnight blue BMW X5?"

"That's right," she replied, puzzled.

"Registration NRC – 1571?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Anything more I need to know about the car?"

"No," she said hesitantly. "Well, it was due its yearly check-up ten days ago so it stayed with BMW for a couple of days and they thoroughly detailed and cleaned it afterwards. Why all the questions?"

"Could it have run out of gas?"

"I don't think so. I'm not entirely sure but there must have been near half a tank left. Captain Brass…Jim, may I ask why you're asking all this? You're beginning to worry me. Is Grissom all right? Has he been involved in an accident?"

"I don't know. Sara was on the phone to him when apparently the car broke down and we haven't been able to contact him since."

"Surely, you don't suspect foul play."

"Well, I wasn't but now I'm not ruling it out," he told Heather, a little surprised at his openness with her regarding this matter.

"Do you think it could be linked to Alison's kidnapping?"

"It's funny you should ask because it's exactly what just crossed my mind but as Grissom would say it's too early to tell. I was thinking more along the line of theft or a carjacking. Maybe whoever took the car took Grissom's phone with it," Brass said. He tried a little reassurance. "For all we know, as we speak he's on the roadside hitch-hiking his way back."

"In this weather?" she murmured with undisguised disbelief in her voice. "You don't believe that."

"No, I don't," Brass said honestly. "Listen, Heather, I'd better go. I've got a few more checks to make."

"Sara must be beside herself; after what happened last year."

Brass lifted his brows. "You know about that?"

"I watch the news Captain Brass," she quickly explained. "Anyway, would you…keep me informed, please?"

"I'll try my best."

After his conversation with Heather, Brass called dispatch to relay Heather's car details and put an APB out on the X5 and on Grissom. Then he tried calling his home – in vain. He then swiftly dialled Catherine's cell which went straight to voicemail. Checking his watch, he called her at home. It wasn't time for shift yet and he remembered her mention that she was looking forward to spending a lazy afternoon in. She wasn't picking up there either and he was about to end the call when her answering machine kicked in.

"Catherine? It's Jim. I just had Sara on the phone….mmm… Long story short, she thinks something's happened to Gil…that he's disappeared. I've done a few checks myself and sadly it's starting to look that way. Anyway, I've put a broadcast out on him and on his car…"

"Wow…Jim? Slow down, it's me," Catherine said a little breathlessly, picking up the phone. "I was doing laundry. Aren't you jumping the gun a bit?"

Brass sighed. "At this point, I don't care if I am. Honestly Catherine, it's not like him to vanish, well not like this anyway, and to tell you the truth after last time…"

"Okay," Catherine conceded, anticipating what Brass was going to say, "I can meet you at PD in fifteen minutes. We'll go look for him together."

"I'll go one better. You get your guys in and I'll meet you at CSI.**"**

"Jim, you're scaring me."

"Not as much as Sara scared me. Something's very wrong."

* * *

The heavy rain had eased off when the driver's door of the X5 finally opened. A lone figure stood looking in turn at both sides of the darkened roadway, checking for any oncoming traffic. Surprisingly, there was no sighs of any approaching headlights.

_Good._

The man jumped out and turned round to heave out his victim.

"Man, you're heavy," he said. "I'm in two minds as to whether I take you with me or leave you here to rot. Okay, let's see..."

He cast a thorough look around the front cab of the SUV to check he wasn't leaving anything behind.

"You know how I feel about trace and that I don't like things to be out of place," he continued as he pocketed several items.

He sighed in an exaggerated manner and he added without a hint of remorse, "Such a shame you had to get in the way but I'm sure you will be missed."

_Not by me though._

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: A little less intense than the previous chapters and look…no cliffhanger! Please leave a review, who knows, you might get me to post a little sooner!


	23. Chapter 23

Thirty minutes later Greg rushed into Catherine's office, the last one of the CSI's expected to arrive after Catherine's hurried "We got a situation, can you come in?" distress call.

"Sorry," he swiftly apologised with a quick smile to Catherine and a nod toward Nick and Riley. "I came as soon as I got your message." He cast a quick quizzical look at his colleagues, waiting for an explanation of sorts on why they had been summoned. But all he saw were two equally perplexed gazes staring expectantly at Catherine.

Nick felt it a good time to voice Greg's silent query. "Okay, Catherine, we're all here," he said with a 'what's going on' shrug at his supervisor. "Where's the rush?"

Catherine took a deep breath and threw her colleague a thin smile, saying, "Well, I'd rather have waited for Jim to arrive before I explained but since you're all here we might as well get started." She was quiet for an instant as she decided on how best to break the news. "Well," she began again a little hesitantly, "Jim received a panicked call from Sara and she…"

"Sara?" Riley inquired with a puzzled frown on her face.

Nick glanced at Riley. "Sara Sidle," he explained, throwing Catherine a concerned look. "She used to be a CSI here."

"Ah, that Sara," mused Riley just as Greg amended Nick's statement.

"Grissom," he interjected. "Sara Grissom."

"I remember," Riley continued more to herself than anyone else, "She's the reason he left."

"Amongst other things," Catherine said impatiently with a reproaching look towards her junior colleague. "Anyway, Sara can't seem to get a hold of him."

"Of…Grissom?" Nick asked, confused. To which Catherine nodded. "Has something happened?"

Catherine shrugged her uncertainty. "I don't really know Nicky. But whatever it is has got Brass acting fast. Apparently from what he says Sara strongly believes Grissom's _disappeared_. And to tell you the truth he seemed to believe himself that something's wrong."

Riley was shaking her head in amusement. "How could he have _disappeared_?" she asked. "There must be a simple explanation."

"Brass didn't say as much but I'm pretty sure he's suspecting foul play. He's obviously worried enough to have put a broadcast out. He asked me to get you all in and that he was on his way. That was forty-five minutes ago. That's all I know, I'm afraid," she added with a look at each of her expectant colleagues.

"I'll tell you what though," she continued when no one had spoken after a while, as they appeared to take some time to digest the news, "I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I've heard him in that state." She looked at her watch. "I can't think what's taking him so long."

There was a quiet knock at the open door. All eyes turned in that direction to find Judy standing there clutching an envelope in her hand. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Ms Willows, but in view of the situation, I felt it might be relevant that…"

"What Judy?" Catherine asked a little impatiently and with a curt smile, wondering how word could have got round already.

"This," Judy said shyly holding up the envelope she was carrying. "Dr Grissom gave me this, earlier this afternoon, to give to Mr Stokes at the start of shift."

Nick's brow rose on hearing his name and he stepped forward reaching for the envelope as he gave Judy a quick thanks and a smile, his expression still puzzled. Judy promptly excused herself and left.

"What is it?" asked Greg.

"I don't know yet, do I?" retorted Nick as he opened the missive. He read the short message and then said, "It just says that he's probably going to be late for shift, that he's going to Doc's for dinner, to get started in continuing the timeline and not to forget to feed the bugs." He smiled and looked up. "I can't believe he called them that." His smile died instantly. "Where is he, Catherine?"

Riley said, "Do you think he could be there already, at Doc's; that he simply has his phone off and Sara is merely over-reacting."

"Sara wouldn't be panicking over nothing. There must be more than what we know," replied Catherine.

"I agree," Nick said solemnly.

Catherine lifted the handset of the telephone on her desk, called Judy and asked her to ring Dr Robbins's home phone number and to put him through. She then waited to be connected. After a very brief conversation with the ME, she replaced the receiver and shook her head at the others, only to confirm what they already knew from Catherine's side of the conversation.

"He's not there. Brass had beaten us to it." Catherine sighed and looked up to movement at her office door. "Jim," she exclaimed as Brass strode into her office, shutting the door behind him. "What's taken you so long?"

"Okay," Brass said, looking at Catherine and ignoring her question. "How much have you told them?"

"Exactly how much I know, which isn't much so if you'd care to enlighten us…"

Brass lifted his hand up toward Catherine, abruptly interrupting her small rant. "Sara called me about," he looked at his watch, "about an hour ago. Apparently she was on the phone to Grissom when the car he was driving broke down. He was supposed to see what was wrong and call her right back. That was at around 5.30 pm. He never did. Now, we're not sure where it is exactly he was when he broke down. What we know is that he'd just left Heather's in Summerlin…"

"Heather's?" asked Riley.

"Heather Kessler," elucidated Brass. "He was letting her know little Jane Doe wasn't Alison."

"Sure. Sorry. I'm with you now," replied Riley with an apologetic 'I should have made the connection' quick smile.

"Anyway, he was on his way to mine and then supposedly headed to Doc Robbins's."

"We called Doc and Grissom never made it," Nick cut in.

Brass nodded. "I know. So did I and by the sound of it so did a frantic Sara."

"Do we know if he was driving a Denali?" Greg asked. "Because if he was…"

"No." Brass interrupted, understanding the young CSI's thinking. "He was driving Heather's SUV. She drives a midnight blue BMW X5." He consulted the notes in his book. "Nevada plates, NRC – 1571. So now I'm waiting to hear from my guys. Highway patrol is keeping an eye out too. But it's a busy night out there; the bad weather is causing mayhem too**.** But according to Sara he hadn't been on the road for that long so the search area is somewhat reduced."

"How is she?" asked Nick.

Brass let out a breath. "As can be expected. Worried sick. Frustrated because of the distance. I called her back to keep her in the loop, so she doesn't feel so out of it but you know Sara…"

Greg smiled sadly. "I can't imagine what she must be feeling."

Riley said, "You know, we don't have any evidence something's happened to Grissom yet. It could just be something simple and obvious."

Brass shrugged. "I don't know. Something's fishy about this. Heather said her car had been recently serviced. There was enough gas in the tank for what Grissom needed to do and the lack of communication on his part is not customary. Also by now he'd have gotten to Doc's." Brass shook his head sombrely. "Something's happened. I just hope it's nothing sinister."

Greg looked at his watch. "Shift is not meant to start for some time, I'm going to go out and look for him."

"I'll come with," said Nick.

"Where's Ray?" asked Brass.

"It's his night off," replied Catherine. "He was out of town when I called. I'll call him in if we need back up. Hey, you two?" she called over to Nick and Greg who were headed out of the door, "you be careful. I…I'm going to need to stay here and get shift organised."

Leaving, Nick and Greg both nodded their heads.

Catherine turned toward Riley. "Riley?" she said, "Do you mind starting early and wrapping up yours and Greg's case from last night; that way, we might be able to cover for the guys if they're not back by the start of shift."

"Sure," Riley nodded and then she left Catherine's office.

With everyone gone but Brass, Catherine slumped down on her chair and let out a sigh. "What's happened to him Jim? Where is he?" she murmured with a concern she had succeeded to conceal so far. "If anything happens to him, Sara will never forgive me. I'm the one who got him to come back and we both know how she feels about that."

"You didn't know this would happen. And anyway, it might be nothing," Brass tried, if a little unconvincingly and half-heartedly, to reassure her.

Catherine smiled at Brass's attempt to cheer her up. "You don't believe that anymore than I do, Jim. Let's hope he's not had another accident and that we find him soon."

"I know this is going to sound bad but I'm kind of hoping for an accident right now. Best of all the scenarios I've come up with."

The ringing of his cell startled both the captain and Catherine. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and sighed on seeing the name displayed. "It's Sara." he said. "I'll take this outside."

A few minutes later, he came back in, his face ashen with anguish.

"Jim, what's happened?" Catherine asked from behind her desk on seeing the captain's face. She brought a hand up to her mouth. "Tell me Sara heard from him, please."

Brass shook his head grimly.

"Have…they found him?" Catherine gasped, thinking the worst before Brass could open his mouth to explain.

"No," Brass whispered. "They found the car though. And according to Metcalf, it's going to need processing. Who do you want me to take?"

Stunned, Catherine remained silent for a minute as she registered Brass's words. "Processing?" she repeated with pleading eyes. "Oh my God! Jim, if he's not with the car…"

"Catherine?"

Catherine looked up and refocused her gaze on the detective. "Hum…might as well ask Nick and Greg to do it. They're already on their way. Where did they find the car?"

"On the roadside, somewhere along Desert Foothills Road, going southbound toward the Summerlin Express." Brass hesitated. "Circumstances look suspicious…"

"What is it Jim?"

Downcast, Brass let out a long sigh. "The officers didn't touch the car but they can see evidence of a struggle…"

"And?" Catherine prompted noticing Brass's slight faltering.

"And they've spotted some drag marks leading away from the driver's side of the SUV."

"Oh no. Do you think he was carjacked?"

The police captain shrugged. "Why leave the car behind if that was the case?"

"Because Grissom is an idiot and he fought back?" Catherine snapped angrily.

Brass pulled a pained face. "I don't know. It just doesn't ring right. I'd better head off. Can you let Nick and Greg know they're needed? I'll meet them at the scene."

Catherine nodded. "What about Sara? Do you want me to call her?"

"No. I think I'd better do that myself. I'll call her on my way over. She's not going to be impressed."

* * *

When Nick and Greg got to the scene on Desert Foothills Road, the heavy rain still pounding downtown Vegas was no more than a light drizzle there but the ground was still saturated with surface water which hadn't had time to permeate the dry desert soil. The night was particularly dark in this area with no streetlights or moonlight to aid their poor visibility. Lights flashing, Nick pulled up behind one of two police cruisers that were angled in such a manner that they shut off the southbound side of the roadway, allowing what sparse traffic there was to pass on the other side, while the beam of their headlights were illuminating the roadside where the BMW stood empty.

As Nick manoeuvred in order to position his vehicle to add even more light to the scene, he noticed officer Metcalf standing guard by the crime scene tape clad in his full rain gear looking a sorry sight and not because he was out in such weather but rather on account of his grim discovery.

Greg was first out of the car, securing his rain jacket and walked toward Metcalf who was coming to meet him half-way. Nick was hot on his heels.

"Greg, Nick," Officer Metcalf greeted both men with a nod. "Here's what I got. The SUV is as we found it when me and Davies got here at seven-hundred. The driver's door of the SUV was left open and by the looks of things had been for quite some time. The elements had got to the interior which is soaked, so I took it upon myself to shut it. I thought because of the rain and wind, you might lose some trace evidence…"

"If it wasn't lost already," interrupted Greg.

Alarmed that he may have done the wrong thing, Metcalf gave a sheepish shrug.

"Don't worry," Nick said with a kind pat on the man's shoulder, "You did the right thing."

Metcalf nodded and let out a breath. "He drummed it into us so often…you know… not to disturb the scene. I didn't want to have let him down…" he let his words drift as both CSI's were nodding their heads in understanding. "These shoeprints are mine," he continued pointing to two distinct trails heading left and right of the X5, "Davies didn't go near and as per protocol I retraced my steps stepping in exactly the same prints."

"You did good," Greg said. "Are these the drag-marks and shoeprints you mentioned to Brass?"

"Yeah," Metcalf answered, despondent. "They look fresh to me but," he shrugged, "you're the CSI's."

"What else can you tell us?" asked Nick.

"As I said, when we got here, the hazard lights were on and we found the key in the ignition too. I thought it strange so I did a quick visual to see whether anything else was amiss. There is evidence of a struggle and I saw what I think is a bullet hole in the passenger seat but I didn't go in and I couldn't see any blood. Seat covers are dark so…" He shrugged the rest of his sentence. "After that, we called it in. I didn't touch anything, just pushed the door shut with my shoulder."

Nick nodded. "Did you check the trunk?"

Metcalf closed his eyes in tune with Nick's thinking but gave a sad shake of the head. "Not yet. I was waiting for your guys to get here before I did. I didn't want to risk contaminating anything more. I called Grissom's name though but got no reply. No groans or moans, nothing."

Greg swayed his head from side to side in uncertainty. "The drag marks end over there," he said shining his flashlight on the ground, "I'm thinking whoever attacked Griss took him as a souvenir."

"Let's check anyway. Just to make sure," Nick said, snapping on a pair of gloves. He then stepped under the crime scene tape, walked toward the car carefully stepping over Metcalf's shoeprints and after opening the driver's side, reached in to press the button to pop the trunk open.

Greg was holding his breath when the trunk opened and let out a sigh of relief coupled with a slow shake of his head in Nick's direction. "Well, that's something," he mumbled as Brass was pulling up in his Taurus. "Where's Davies now?" he then ask Metcalf.

"He's searching the area on foot, see if he can find a bod…Grissom," Metcalf amended. He shook his head slightly and left the two CSI's to go brief his captain.

"Okay," Nick said taking charge. "Greg, you search the nearby area for evidence of a second vehicle while I start on documenting and casting the drag marks and shoeprints we got."

Greg nodded.

"Also keep your eye out for anything out of place. Griss may have left us a clue. We'll leave the interior of the SUV until we get back to CSI. The light's not good enough here. I'm going to call auto detail to have the car towed back."

Greg nodded in assent. "Are you thinking that Griss was a victim of a carjacking? Someone saw he had broken down and grabbed the opportunity? It's pretty remote in these parts."

Nick shrugged. "Maybe. But then, why leave the car?"

"Because they couldn't get it started. What I don't get, though, is why they took Grissom." Greg paused and looked up to the sky. "Damn this weather," Greg cursed a little dispirited.

"Come on," Nick said kindly. "Just process the surrounding area thoroughly. That's all we can do for now. Don't forget to take a walk down the road, see if you find some brake marks, anything," Nick stopped talking and watch Greg stare into space. "Are you going to be okay with this Greg?"

Startled, Greg lowered his gaze to Nick and nodded with a weary sigh. "I was just thinking about Sara. What are we going to tell her?"

"Don't think about that now," Nick said. "The best we can do for her is to find Grissom."

He sighed as he turned to make his way back to the Denali to grab his and Greg's kits.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Am I forgiven for my foolhardy comment? I won't even breathe the word…As usual, I love to hear from you so please, leave a review!


	24. Chapter 24

"_Hello. You've reached Jim Brass. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."_

"Jim, we're on the next flight landing at 12.45 am. Can you come and meet us? If not, we'll get a cab straight to the lab. Okay, we'll see soon." There was a short pause. "Jim? I'm…please, find him."

* * *

After an hour into a two-hour wait for auto detail to turn up, Greg was asked to head off to another crime scene in Henderson and had had to leave Nick on his own, hands deep in plaster of Paris as he cast the last of some tyre treads they had found. Fortunately for the CSI's, all the tyre treads seem to belong to the same vehicle as the rain appeared to have obliterated any older traces of tyre impressions.

As for Brass, he had left pretty much as soon as he had got to the scene and in the same manner too - with a chirp of angry tyres - as frustratingly there was nothing for him to investigate.

Nick looked all around him but although the rain had now completely stopped he still couldn't see further than the area the cars' headlights were lighting up. With the Denali gone, the light was in short supply. When he had cast the last of the impressions, Nick asked Metcalf to move his cruiser at a different angle so that it illuminated the area he was working on more broadly. Then he stood back and took stock of the entire crime scene as he tried to visualize the whole picture.

_Okay, Nicky. You've done this a thousand times. This is no different. Let the scene talk to you…_

_The drag marks start on the driver's side of the SUV, continue nine yards in a backward motion toward and past an as-yet-unidentified second vehicle. Then they stop having taken a quick forty-five degree turn. These are overlapped by this second vehicle's tyre impressions pulling out onto the roadway, heading south. _

Nick had no doubts that because of the sequence of events as he saw them, theses impressions were those of the get-away vehicle. He then crouched down and ran his hand over his face deep in concentration.

_The way the drag marks fit around the right-hand side of that second vehicle's tyre marks and carry on slightly beyond the rear suggest Grissom was loaded into the boot._

"Okay, "Nick said aloud to himself as he got up, "Now for the shoeprints."

_These follow the exact same path but are slightly uneven most probably because of the strength needed to drag Grissom's heavy and most probably unconscious body. By the looks of it, only one set of prints – only one attacker._

The CSI let out a drawn out sigh as he imagined the scene as it went down. He could see it so clearly in his mind: the attempted carjacking; Grissom refusing to relinquish the car and putting up a fight; and then the struggle and the use of a firearm.

_Damn!_ he thought as he promptly got his sketch pad out while the plaster finished to set.

* * *

Riding shotgun in the tow truck, Nick didn't make it back to the crime lab, X5 in tow until 10.00 pm. He logged the evidence he collected at the scene, promptly got changed into his coveralls and headed straight for the garage, keen on getting started. He caught sight of the insect timeline for the Rosie Perkins's case and remembered he still hadn't fed the insects as per Grissom's instructions. Sighing, he returned to his office, took out the food from the small fridge and returned to the garage. By the time he finished his task, and frustratingly for Nick, it was already nearing 10.45.

Nick took his camera and began by closely examining the exterior of the BMW taking pictures at regular intervals. He took a sample of soil from the wheel arches which he carefully documented. Any other trace evidence on the bodywork appeared to have been washed away by the elements but he took great care in dusting the handles and surrounding areas for prints, collecting an assortment of smudges, partials and a couple of well defined prints from the underside of the handles, just to throw into the mix.

_Oh, Mandy is so going to love me,_ he thought with a smile.

Grateful for the fact that the vehicle had been recently detailed, Nick opened the passenger side front door and took some time to study it from a distance before venturing inside. Apart from the dampness caused by the rain, the interior at first glance looked spotless – well, disregarding the obvious signs of struggle. He opened the glove compartment which was tidy and only contained the owner's manual, registration and insurance details – not that he needed confirmation. He looked in the side pockets of both doors, behind the visors, leaned over and made a first cursory visual of the space under the seat.

Sighing, he leaned into the driver side and noticed the key still in the ignition. _I'll dust it for prints later. _He then switched the GPS system on, which registered no recent entries. Mindful not to compromise any trace evidence, he started inspecting the upholstery and headlining for hairs or any other foreign fibres, blood or any other trace, first with the naked eye and then under his ALS as he relentlessly documented each finding with countless photographs.

"I called Ray in," Catherine said without preamble as she stepped into the garage.

Nick jumped slightly on hearing his boss's voice and turned to smile at her.

Catherine smiled back, saying, "He should be back from Reno shortly to relieve Riley from the Henderson case we're working. Shouldn't be more than half-an-hour. I'll send Greg back as soon as I get there; that way he won't be on the phone every five minutes wanting an update."

"Good because auto repair were jammed and took for ever to bring the car here; I've only just gotten started and I sure could do with the help."

"What have you got? What's you first blush?"

Nick switched his flashlight off and jumped out of the SUV. "Well, from the scene we got a lot of shoeprints – it looks like one single male perp judging from the tread and size of the shoe. We also lifted tyre impressions consistent with one vehicle. The impressions are very clear; I'm confident we'll be able to identify them from the database. It also looks like Grissom was dragged out of the car to the other vehicle. You know Catherine," he paused and rubbed his eyes tiredly, "I'm almost certain he was loaded into the boot of the second vehicle…" The rest of the sentence died on his lips.

Catherine knew exactly where Nick's train of thoughts had taken him and she smiled, a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. She then gently reached her hand to his shoulder and gave him a small squeeze in reassurance.

Nick kept quiet for an instant, looking at the BMW as he composed himself. Nodding, he let out a deep breath and continued, "I've collected a lot of fingerprints on the exterior of the SUV but I'm not hopeful - only a couple of full well-defined prints on the driver's side."

"Grissom's still in the system so we'll eliminate him quickly," Catherine said with optimism. "Have we got Heather's prints?"

Nick shrugged. "Maybe we should ask her to come in."

Catherine nodded. "I'll do it. Her prints are going to be all over the car anyway."

"Now, this is where I'm at. As you know there's what appears to be a bullet hole in the passenger seat. I'll swab for GSR and extract the bullet when I'm done with my prelim," he explained. "The rear-view mirror is broken off and lying in the passenger foot well. The steering wheel is scuffed there," he said, pointing. He frowned and snapped a quick photograph. "Actually, it looks more like teeth marks. Maybe, there'll some residual saliva. Pass me a swab. I'll see if I can get some DNA from that. Hopefully the rain didn't get to it."

Catherine did as asked and Nick took a sample, resuming his account. "Also, I've got what looks like blood drops on the upholstery, and splatter on the windshield and headlining – not enough to be from a GSW though – and soil on both seats. Now Heather said the car had been detailed…" he trailed off.

Catherine nodded bringing her gaze up from the interior of the car to meet Nick's.

"That's it so far." Nick sighed as he straightened up and out of the car. "Griss must have put up quite a fight in there. I just hope not all the blood's his."

Catherine gave a nod but had nothing to say that would assuage her colleague's fears, for she shared the same concerns.

Nick shook his head quickly in an attempt to snap out of his sombreness. "I've not looked under the hood, in the back seats or the trunk or started collecting evidence from the interior of the vehicle."

Catherine glanced at her watch. It was 12.00 am. "The night is still young," she smiled warmly, "and you're doing good Nicky. Just take you time. You don't want to miss anything." She sighed. "I need to get going. I'll send Greg back pronto."

"Okay," Nick said as Catherine made to leave. "Catherine," he called, peering over his shoulder and nodding to the fingerprints, bindle and swab, "Could you drop this evidence to the various labs? It'll save me the trip."

By 12.30 am Greg and Riley had joined Nick at the garage and the three of them were now deep in concentration, working in well-practised companionable silence on their various tasks.

"Jesus! How did I not see this before?" Nick wondered aloud after a while.

"What?" asked Riley.

"I've got something," Nick said with a satisfied smile as he lifted up some evidence with his tweezers for Riley to see.

She leaned over from the back seat. "A single strand of hair with the follicle still attached. Nice!" she murmured with a huge smile at Nick. "Long, straight and dirty," she shuddered, "And blond. And if I remember correctly, not Grissom's colour."

"Or Heather's," Nick piped in. "She's got very long dark hair." He paused as he lifted the strand up closer to his face. "But it could be Alison's. The length and the colouring is a visual match. I'll bag it and send it to Wendy, see if she can extract some DNA from it." Nick got a bindle and placed the hair in it as he asked Riley, "Have you got anything at the back?"

"Nope," she replied. "Clean as a whistle. I'm going to go take a peek at the trunk."

Nick returned to the task in hand and decided to look at the bullet hole in the passenger seat. He swabbed for GSR but had no doubt that the test would prove positive in such confined space. He felt with his fingers for a bullet, reached inside the seat with the tweezers and extracted it. He inspected it, saying, "I've got the bullet and it looks clean."

"That's something," Greg muttered from under the hood. "Only the one shot fired?" he asked.

"That I can see," replied Nick. "There is no sign of a spent cartridge. Maybe a revolver?" He shone the beam of his flashlight in every hidden recess to double check but what he found instead alarmed him more. He let out a long drawn-out sigh, noticed by both his colleagues.

"What is it Nick?" asked Riley as both she and Greg were moving to take a closer look. Nick was half-lying across the front seats, his legs dangling out of the driver's side and looking up toward the underside of the black dashboard on the passenger side. "I've got another hole, just there in the corner," he said, putting his finger in it. "Oh shit," he muttered to himself on pulling his finger out. "Riley," he called. "Get me the phenolphthalein."

"Why? Have you got blood?" Greg asked anxiously.

"I don't know. It looks like a little dried blood on the entry point. Not a lot, though."

Riley passed him the small bottle and watched as he sprayed a little on the samples he had swabbed on the entry point as well as the area of the dark upholstery and carpet underneath.

"Could be the perp's," she said injecting a little hope into her statement when she saw the swab turn pink.

Nick nodded distractedly.

Greg tried to lift the sombre mood that had descended upon the garage by changing topic. "Well," he said, "Everything looks as it should under the hood. No loose or disconnected or severed wiring, the battery seems fine and has plenty of juice, nothing wrong with the alternator either. There's nothing obvious that jumps at me."

"Keep on it. There has to be a reason the car stopped," Nick continued.

Greg nodded as he reached for the trolley, laid on it and wheeled himself under the car. "Nick? Can you pass me some more light?" he asked.

Nick complied as he asked, "Riley? Would you please take these to Wendy? See if she can get started on DNA."

Riley nodded and made her way to Wendy's lab.

"I'm going to look and see if I can find the second bullet and get those quickly to ballistics. With a little luck we'll get something from IBIS."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: I apologise if this chapter feels somewhat truncated, it's because it was. I hope it read all right nevertheless but it was getting a little too tedious and long, IMO - I shouldn't say that really, should I, I wrote the bloody thing! Anyway, I'll post the rest either late tonight or tomorrow morning and I hope you'll bear with me while I sort it all out. Please, leave a review, they keep me going and with this heat, I sadly need it.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: As promised, the other half of the scene. Happy 4th of July to all in the States. Sorry if I havn't yet replied to the reviews, I'll get round to it tonight but now, we're off to the beach. I'm taking a deserved break. Enjoy!

* * *

Nick had just extracted the second bullet, which he was carefully examining for blood – there only was a trace amount which he swabbed – when he heard Greg curse from under the BMW. He swiftly got out of the SUV, bullet in hand to reach for another evidence bag. As he carefully placed the bullet in the bag, he stooped down next to Greg's feet to peer under the car. "Still no luck?" he inquired.

Nick's comment – although said quietly – made Greg jump and he bumped his head on the undercarriage of the SUV. Wheeling himself out from under there he rubbed his sore head as he said, "On the contrary, Mary."

"What have you got?" Nick said with a shake of his head at Greg's idiocy.

The younger CSI got to his feet with a satisfied smile on his face. "I knew I'd get the little sucker eventually," he smirked, lifting an oily latex-clad hand toward Nick. "Would you take a look at that?" he smiled proudly. "Good old-fashioned crocodile clips clamped onto the fuel line…I almost missed them." He shook his head in disbelief. "This old Beemer petered out of gas. Basic but very effective."

Riley was just coming back from dropping the evidence off when she heard the tail end of his comment. "So the car was definitely tampered with," she said, slipping on a new set of latex gloves. "Well, that definitely takes care of our carjacking theory then. What I don't get though is how the perp knew Grissom would be at the wheel."

Greg arched his brow as he thought about Riley's comment. "Maybe he didn't. Maybe Heather was the target."

"Okay," Riley conceded. "Makes sense, it's her car after all."

"If that's the case," Nick observed, "I'd bet my bottom dollar Griss's abduction is linked to Alison's kidnapping."

"Maybe the abductor got more than he bargained for when he got Grissom instead of Heather," Greg carried on. "There was a struggle…" Greg paused and scrunched his eyes in concentration.

"What are you thinking Greg?" Nick asked.

"Well, we've got to assume he got the better of Griss, right? The evidence's pointing that way. So Griss is incapacitated – most probably unconscious. The attacker could flee the scene – and we'd be none the wiser – and leave Griss behind but he doesn't." He paused to gather his thoughts. "He has a gun; he uses it twice inside the car. He could use it again to finish the job but he chooses not to; there just isn't enough blood to sustain that theory. We agree on that, right?" he asked his colleagues.

Nick and Riley nodded silently in reply.

Greg continued with his reasoning. "What puzzles me though is the fact that our perp then decided to burden himself by taking Grissom with him. Why? What would he gain from that?"

"Maybe Grissom…knew his attacker?" Riley interjected.

Nick shrugged his ambivalence. "That still doesn't explain why he took him instead of killing him, though." He ran his hands over his face and sighed. "But I guess it's a workable theory – for now."

"It's the only theory we got," Greg rightly pointed out.

Nick nodded. "Come on you two," he said as he got back inside the SUV armed with his fingerprint powder, "let's keep at it. Greg, print the crocodile clips, see if there's anything on them."

Suddenly movement at the garage door caught Riley's attention. "Hello, can I help you?" she asked, for the first time noticing the woman silently standing in the doorway.

The tall brunette was still completely mesmerised by the conversation between the CSI's she had just been privy to, her gaze a million miles away as the words echoed in her mind. Her face was a mixture of barely-concealed emotions and her breathing was somewhat shallow – not that she seemed aware of any of it - and her hand was clutching the doorframe as if to prop herself up, her knuckles white.

On hearing she was being spoken to, Sara turned her head toward Riley with a start and stared at her intently even though it looked like she wasn't seeing her at all.

Greg looked up sharply and grinned. "Sara!" he exclaimed putting the crocodile clips on the workbench before striding quickly towards her to envelop her in a tight hug. Sara immediately relaxed a little in Greg's arms and her focus returned. He gingerly backed away from her saying, "Sorry, Sar. I'm covered in grease."

"It's fine, Greg," she assured, squeezing his hand. "Don't worry about it. It's good to see you too."

Greg nodded and peered over Sara's shoulder. "Have you brought Noah with you?"

Sara smiled a little as she nodded. Greg and her son got on like a house on fire. "I...I've put him in Grissom's…hum…in your office, Nick," she said turning toward Nick who had joined them. She leaned across to hug him. "I hope it's okay. He's sound asleep in his car seat and he shouldn't wake up. Judy's keeping an eye on him."

Nick nodded into her shoulder. He pulled away and then said, "I'm so sorry Sara."

Her smile wobbled. "It's okay," she said unconvincingly. "I'm okay."

"You drove?" Greg asked, his tone incredulous as he checked his watch.

"No. I flew." Sara looked beyond Greg and Nick. "I'm sorry. You must be Riley." She smiled. "I'm Sara."

"I know who you are," Riley said with a small friendly wave. She snapped her latex glove off as she moved closer the group and extended her right hand to shake Sara's. "Nice to finally meet you, Sara," she smiled as she shook her head, adding, "These two have no manners."

"Is this Heather's car?" Sara wondered with a nod toward the SUV although she already knew the answer to that.

"Yeah," Riley replied.

Sara closed her eyes for just a second as though giving herself a pep talk and then turned toward Nick and Greg. "So tell me what you got," she said deliberately hiding the fact that she had heard their conversation before they noticed her presence.

Nick and Greg exchanged looks.

"Come on guys; if you don't tell me, I'll get it from Catherine and I'd much rather hear it from the horse's mouth. When he picked me up, Jim said you got the car and that you were still processing it. Was it tampered with?"

"As a matter of fact it was," replied Riley when she noticed her colleagues' hesitation to answer Sara's query. "What makes you ask?"

Sara gave a small shrug. "An educated guess?"

The three CSI's brought Sara up to speed on all their findings so far, sparing her only the most distressing details. Sara absorbed it all stoically, asking pertinent questions, not showing any signs of emotion or distress as though she was back in time just working a normal case. When they had finished their account, they each returned to their individual jobs and Sara kept a watchful eye on the proceedings – a task she had conducted countless times herself in this same garage. She had to trust they were doing a thorough job. Hell, she knew they were doing a thorough job. And surprisingly for all involved – except Riley who didn't know any different - she took a back seat and let them get on.

_It's so long ago since I last processed a car_, she thought sadly. _I used to enjoy it too._

As Nick was finishing dusting for prints the interior of the vehicle, Riley shut the boot and decided to take another last look at the rear of the car. She caught a glimpse of something shimmering under the beam of her flashlight and she bent down, frowning, toward the driver's seat back.

"What's this?" Riley said reaching for her camera to take a quick shot of her finding before gently easing out what looked like an inch of fine gold chain that was sticking out from the gap at the bottom of the seat back. As she pulled the chain out further, a gold wedding band fell out onto the black carpeting and Sara who had come forward to take a look audibly gasped.

"What is it, Sara? Do you recognise this?" Nick asked softly from the front of the car.

Sara nodded, her eyes fixed on the ring as tears began to fill her eyes. The chain had snapped near the clasp and some of the gold links were twisted out of shape.

And all of a sudden the reality of the situation hit her and she couldn't keep pretending anymore. "It's Gil's…it's his wedding…band." A tear escaped and she wiped it off roughly, angry with herself at her emotional display. "He keeps it around his neck when he's in the field or doing experiments," she murmured.

"I swear," Riley said, "it wasn't there when I processed the rear of the car earlier." She turned to Nick, shaking her head. "I wouldn't have missed it. You must have dislodged it when you lay across the front seats before and…"

"It's all right, Riley," Sara said with a smile that never quite reached her eyes as she placed her hand on the young CSI's shoulder. "It doesn't make a difference anyway whether you got it now or two hours ago. We already know there was a struggle and that…someone was injured." She looked down and became quiet for a moment. She reached a trembling hand toward the ring. "Can I have it?"

Riley held it out for Sara to take but Nick said, "You can't, sweetheart. You know we got to process it first."

Nodding her head to show she understood, Sara slowly brought her hand back to her side and smiled a wobbly smile as she fought hard to keep her tears from falling while she watched Riley bag and tag her husband's most prised possession.

She turned away and moved over to the corner of the garage where she remained quiet for a long moment as she let the CSI get on, undisturbed while she attempted to regain some composure.

After a long while spent in fascination at the sight before her, Sara asked, "What's this, Nick? Is this what you and Gil are working on?" Sara kept her gaze on the insects in the terrarium, mesmerised by their incessant activity.

"Yeah," Nick replied softly as he made his way toward her.

Sara turned and smiled at Nick. "I'm simply amazed you chose to continue in Gil's footsteps with this. Did you volunteer or did Catherine put you up to it?" she asked a little playfully.

"It was my choice but don't worry," he winked, "it's cool, I'm not looking for revenge. I won't let them die."

She chuckled. "Gil would hunt you down if you did," she mused with a little sadness.

Suddenly, Debussy's Clair de Lune could be heard floating around the garage. Sara turned her head with a start, anxiously rushed to her purse and quickly rummaged for her cell. Checking the display, her face unexpectedly lit up and she looked up to three expectant faces.

"It's him!" she exclaimed looking happy and relieved but bewildered, "It's Gil!"

She quickly flipped her phone open. "Gil? My God. Are you all right? Where are you? I've been…" Sara's face dropped as she heard a voice she didn't recognise reply.

"Oh!" A slight pause. "Mr Grissom's better half, I presume," said the distorted voice. "Interesting."

Sara's hand started to tremble and Nick and Greg exchanged worried look at the unexpected change in their friend's expression. "Who are you?" Sara demanded to know. "Is Gil…is Grissom all right? What have you done with him? What do you want from us?"

The voice chortled. "You two are as bad as each other. You ask far too many questions. I'm going to make this quick, so please don't interrupt me. I'm afraid I have some bad news. Mr Grissom…Gil," the voice amended snidely, "has had an unfortunate accident which sadly resulted in his death…"

"No," Sara cut in. "I don't believe you. You're lying. Where is he?" Sara asked mustering all her strength in order to keep it together. Although she had tried to keep her voice steady and unwavering, the man had picked up on her distress and openly snickered at her. His mockery cut her like a knife. "Tell me where he is…please," she couldn't help but add pleadingly.

The voice snorted. "Oh, believe me. I do feel your pain. I _know_ what it's like to lose a loved one."

The words cut Sara raw and she realised she was playing right into his hand by showing her grief. Any trace of anxiety disappeared from her voice as she uttered, "I don't believe you. I won't believe this until…"

"You want proof, is that it?" the man interrupted. "I should have known. Two peas in a pod," he remarked more to himself than to Sara. "I _can_ and I _will_ indulge you if it's going to put your mind at rest. Which would you prefer?" There was a short pause, most probably for effect. "A photograph? A body part? Or better still, the whole of him?"

Sara's eyes darkened at the man's contempt. "How did you get this phone?" she spat angrily, her fighting spirit returning with force. "We're going to get you, you hear me? You weren't so smart this time and you left something behind…"

Sara didn't have time to say any more as the call got disconnected on the other end. Shaking, she was unable to keep the tears from silently streaming down her cheeks as she flipped her cell shut. Her rage and pain were over-spilling uncontrollably through her tears. She brought a hand to her face as she slowly brought her haunted look up towards Nick. She didn't need words to explain for him to understand; hearing her side of the communication was enough.

Yet, he had to make sure. "What is it Sara? What did he say?" Nick whispered as he pulled her into his arms.

Sara fought against him, still pent up after the phone call but relented almost straightaway and let herself be enveloped in his strong hold. She sobbed openly, her face burrowed into his shoulder and then when she was spent she pushed herself off him a little, wiping her tear-streaked cheeks. She tried a watery smile. Greg had moved closer too, and standing behind Sara he was gently rubbing his hand over her back, casting Nick some desperate glances.

"Sara?" Greg tried. "We need to know. Talk to us," he coaxed gently.

Sara took a deep breath as she attempted to calm down. "Whoever took Gil has also got his phone." She closed her eyes and swayed on her feet as though she was going to faint. "He used a voice-altering device and he said that he…" her lower lip trembled as she fought a new tide of tears, "he said that he…that he was…dead." The last word was whispered so quietly that Nick thought he had misunderstood.

"This has got to be linked to Alison's kidnapping," Greg muttered totally disregarding Sara's last comment and voicing what they all thought. "Too many coincidences otherwise. And we all know what Grissom think about them."

"Oh, I agree. But this time he's gotten careless," Nick said, "We got plenty of evidence." Turning to Sara, he pursed his lips into a small smile and tilted his head to the side silently asking whether she was going to be okay. When she nodded, he said, "Why don't you take the phone to Archie, see what he can get from it. Greg? You and Riley finish up here while I take all this to Mandy and check with her and Wendy what they got so far."

Greg and Riley nodded. "Don't forget Grissom's…wedding ring," Riley said, holding out said item.

Nick took the evidence bag from her and continued, "After, I'm going to go take a look at the tyre mouldings we got at the scene but I'm pretty sure what vehicle will come up a possible match. But if we want to nail the son of a bitch we're going to have to dot all our I's and cross all our T's."

"Sara?" Nick asked her as they got to the garage door. "You're going to be all right?"

She nodded as she picked up her purse. "I'm fine. Let's nail this bastard," she said, a determined scowl etched on her face.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: I almost cut it at "It's him!" she exclaimed looking happy and relieved but bewildered, "It's Gil!" but I didn't have the heart. You see Robynne, I'm not such a good student after all. And thank you all so much for your support, kind words of encouragement and simply sticking with me through the doubts. You know the drill, if you're enjoying this, please leave me a review, they mean a lot.


	26. Chapter 26

After checking on Noah, Sara left her phone with Archie in the A/V lab, and then stopped next door. Through the blinds she could see Catherine sat at her desk hard at work, a frown on her face. She knocked at the open door to get the supervisor's attention, not waiting to be asked before going in.

Catherine looked up from the report she was reviewing and peered over her glasses at her visitor. "Sara!" she exclaimed smiling warmly. She got up, removed her glasses and walked round her desk to give Sara a tight hug. "I just got back from a scene. How good to see you!"

Sara briefly returned the embrace. "It's good to see you too, Catherine."

"I thought you might be on your way," Catherine added pensively. The shadow that had darkened her face disappeared almost instantly. "When did you get here? And where's your gorgeous son?"

Sara's smile was brief. "He's in…Judy's watching him for me."

Having run out of pleasantries both women fell into an awkward silence.

Catherine smiled uneasily. "We're going to find him, Sara," she said squeezing the younger woman's arm. "We're getting closer."

Sara's lips curved downward as she sighed, whispering, "We may already be too late. He called."

Catherine looked confused as she repeated, "He called?" She then gently guided Sara toward a chair as she pulled one nearer for her to sit on. "I don't understand. Gil called?"

Sara shook her head. "Archie's got my phone but I don't hold much hope he's going to be able to trace the call," she told a still puzzled Catherine.

And suddenly the penny dropped. "You're not talking about Grissom, are you? _He_ called. What? When? Like he did when he called…"

"Heather?" Sara asked, interrupting. "I assume so. Distorted voice. Cool, collected, non-threatening or aggressive…Except this time, I picked up so we don't have a recording and we can't do a voice comparison."

Catherine nodded. "Sounds like the same MO, though."

"Well," Sara murmured hesitantly, "He had news for me. He called to tell me Grissom was dead." Despite her best effort, her voice wavered slightly as she said the words.

Catherine shook her head and got up sharply. "He's messing with us," she spat with venom. "That scumbag. If he thinks he's running rings round us he's got another thing coming. I don't believe that for a minute. Not for a single minute. Not until we've got evidence to prove it," she paused for breath and looked at Sara. "Sara, you _mustn't_ pay any head to this. He knows we're on his tail and he's trying to rattle us."

Head bowed, Sara remained silent as she pondered Catherine's words.

"Wait a minute," Catherine exclaimed after a while. "How did he know to phone_ you_?"

Sara sighed as she met Catherine's gaze. "I don't think he knew as such. He was using Gil's cell and I'm pretty sure he got my name when I called earlier. I was very insistent. It wasn't hard to figure." Sara hesitated. "If he's got Gil's phone, that means he's got all his numbers, including the crime lab's and PD's and…"

Catherine nodded and waved the issue aside. "I'll notify everyone." She sighed. "Come on Sara. Let's go and see the guys; see what they got. They're in the garage processing Heather's car."

"I know. I've just come from there. They're finishing up."

"Already?" Catherine asked. "Nick's been relentless and…" She paused, closed her eyes and let out a long breath. "I don't know how you're keeping it together."

"I'm not. I'm just tired and…" she gave a little helpless shrug adding, "and I've had years of practice at pretending everything's fine."

Catherine arched her brow, wondering what Sara meant by that. "I am so sorry, Sara," she blurted out after a while.

Sara looked up toward her former colleague, confused. "What for?" she asked, misinterpreting Catherine's apology. "I don't think Gil's dead, not at all. If that's what you're worried about. It's not his time, not yet. There are too many things we still got to do," she said, her voice getting louder the more worked-up she got.

Catherine smiled ruefully. "I'm glad you're thinking positive but…it's not what I meant. No. If I hadn't called him…" she said, shrugging the rest of her sentence off.

Sara finally understood what Catherine was trying to apologize for. She hesitated briefly before saying, "Listen Catherine, I have to admit to being very, _very_ pissed with you for dragging him back here and if I had seen you five hours ago, I would have…I would have…I don't know what I would have done but it wouldn't have been pretty."

Catherine snorted. "Fair enough."

Sara lifted a hand indicating that she hadn't finished what she wanted to say. "But during the flight over, I calmed down – a little," she qualified with a little smile, "and I realised that you didn't make Gil come back. You didn't make him do anything he didn't want to do. He wanted to come. In fact he was excited to come. I saw the twinkle in his eye after your call and he never even tried to hide it." She shrugged. "None of this is your fault Cat, you couldn't have protected him anymore than I could. I could have stopped him from coming but I didn't. Because ultimately that's not what he wanted."

Grateful for Sara's heartfelt words Catherine nodded and smiled.

Restless, Sara got up. "Anyway, enough of this…mopping. It's not helping Gil or Alison," she said with determination. "This bastard's left us clues and I want a hand in catching him."

Catherine hesitated. "I don't know if it's a good idea for you to get involved, Sara. By all means I'll keep you informed with everything but you're far too emotionally involved to be objective and we both know how…"

"Catherine, stop," Sara instructed offhandedly. "I'm not asking for your permission here. I _will _do this with or without your help. Don't think for one minute you can keep me out of this." Sara's temper was getting the better of her and her voice had risen considerably as she continued berating, "Goddamnit Catherine, you're always doing this and I remember a time when you…" she paused and closed her eyes wearily. She had been on the verge of losing it completely and of saying something she would regret but she seemed to catch herself as she raised her hands up in the air in annoyance and let them drop to her side. Frustrated with herself and most importantly with the situation, she sighed loudly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything."

Not offended in the slightest and even somewhat amused, Catherine retorted, "Yes, you did."

Sara nodded as she fought back a smile. "Catherine, please, put yourself in my shoes," she continued more calmly. "I cannot not be involved. Let me help." Knowing she was starting to wear Catherine's resolve down, Sara persisted, "What if I promise to be strictly hands-off? Would you let me work this case then? Two sharp women are better than one, remember?" she tried again.

Catherine's lips twitched in recollection of the phrase and Sara took that as consent. She began pacing the room. "Okay, so let's think about this logically. Let's take another look at what we have."

Catherine nodded as she sat behind her desk and retrieved Alison's case file.

"It's fair to assume at this point that both abductions are related, right?" Sara asked. She received a nod in reply and then continued, "Who are the most likely perps? Who would gain the most from it?" She paused for an instant to think about it. "What about the father?"

"Alec Foster?" Catherine shook her head. "Nah, we looked into him and although he was in Vegas at the time his alibi checked out."

"And there's absolutely no doubt about it?"

"We can place him in the Monaco at the exact time. Brass had him in for questioning but he wasn't our guy. Besides he's gone back east so he couldn't have carried out the attack on Gil."

Sara looked on expectantly.

Catherine gave a small smile thinking that although Sara had left CSI she still was behaving and thinking like one. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt to ring our colleagues over in Boston and get them to double check his whereabouts," she said conciliatorily.

Sara nodded. "Who else is there? What about Alison's grand-father? What do we know about him?"

"Jerome Kessler was never a suspect. Alison was at the park with him when she went missing and unless he's a damn good actor, his distress looked genuine and heartfelt. Besides, we checked and he doesn't drive a black Mitsubishi pick-up truck."

"He could have rented or borrowed one," Sara suggested animatedly, dismissing Catherine's argument. She checked herself and let out a long breath as she willed herself to keep cool. "What about an accomplice?"

"Maybe but…"

Interrupting, Sara countered, "The first person at the scene…"

"I know," Catherine sighed, "I know."

"Please Catherine," Sara argued again, "it's worth checking his whereabouts for last night, at least, isn't it? He certainly has a good motive."

Interested, Catherine silently arched an eyebrow for Sara to continue.

The ex-CSI eagerly obliged, "From what Gil told me, he didn't know of Zoe Kessler's existence until after she died. That must have hurt the guy. He wants pay-back. They go through the courts and at first Heather gets denied custody of Alison. But we both know she's got friends in high places, friends who could have put in a good word with the judge. Maybe Jerome resents the eventual shared custody decision."

Catherine shrugged as she thought about it. "Why wait almost three years to take her if that was the case," Catherine asked, looking into the case with a set of new eyes.

"Because he was waiting for Heather to truly grow attached to her grand-daughter. So that when he took her away from her, she would be totally crushed and devastated and judging by what Gil's been telling me, he succeeded." Sara stopped talking abruptly as she recalled something the kidnapper said on the phone. _I know what it's like to lose a loved one._

"What is it Sara?" Catherine asked with concern. "Are you okay?"

Sara glanced at Catherine. "Yeah. I just remembered something. Where does he live?"

"Who? Kessler?" Sara nodded. "Somewhere in Henderson, I think."

"Well, maybe, we should go and pay him a visit," Sara said already moving towards the door.

For the first time all night Catherine laughed. "Oh, it's so good to have you back, Sara. I've missed how clearly you see things and how your mind works. But you know we can't _go and pay him a visit_. Not yet," she said still chuckling. "We have no grounds. First, we need to see whether any of the evidence we collected from Grissom's adb…" Catherine's laughter died instantly. "…whether any of the new evidence sustains your theory and then we'll call Brass and see about a warrant."

There was a quiet knock at the closed door of Catherine's office. "Come in," Catherine said turning her head to the side.

Judy opened the door a crack and said, "I'm looking for Ms S…Mrs Grissom. Have you seen her?"

"I'm here, Judy," Sara called from near Catherine's desk.

Judy opened the door a little wider on hearing Sara's voice.

"Is everything all right with…" Sara asked but stopped short on seeing who was at the door with Judy and grinned as she extended her arms toward her son who stopped whimpering straightaway. His big brown eyes were red and full of tears and his cheeks were flustered from crying but his face lit up on seeing Sara and he grinned an almost toothless grin but for two small insicives at the bottom. His arms took a life of their own as he lunged himself almost perilously out of Judy's arms into his mother's. "Hey," she told him as she gently wiped his tears with her thumb, "I wasn't far. I'm here…"

"I'm sorry," stammered Judy. "He woke up and he was screaming until I got him out of the car seat. I got to him as soon as I heard."

"Thank you, Judy," Sara said with a smile, as she bounced Noah on her hip. She turned to speak to him. "You're all right now, aren't you?"

"Here," Judy added before leaving, "I've got his change bag. I think he might have…" she said with a wriggle her nose. "I'd better leave you to it."

Sara smiled and turned toward Catherine who was watching the scene with interest. "Catherine, do you want a hold?"

Catherine registered a look of surprise. "Oh, can I? I'd love to."

"Catherine!" Nick called from the corridor outside's Catherine's office a few moments later. As he reached the door he smiled at the sight in front of him. He passed the sheet of paper he was carrying to Sara and made a bee line for Catherine – or rather Noah. Holding his arms out in a silent 'May I' plea, he said, "Say hello to Uncle Nicky" as he lifted the little boy up in the air.

"Good, you're both here," he said, noticing Sara. He settled Noah over his shoulder as he turned back into CSI mode. "You know I've been looking at the tyre impressions again."

Sara nodded and looked down to scan the report Nick had handed to her as she listened to him talk.

"Well, all the impressions match Firestone tyres. The size and tread width suggest that they're fitted to an all-terrain vehicle. So I delved into it a bit more and these exact same tyres are fitted as standard on the new model Mitsubishi Raider."

Catherine tilted her head at Nick, a confused frown on her face. "But Nick, we already know both abductions are related."

Nick held up a placating hand indicating that he hadn't finished his explanation. "I've got more," he said with a grin. "A lot more. I took it upon myself to go back to the original case and look at all the players again..."

"You followed a hunch," Sara interrupted with a knowing smile.

"Yes, Ma'am," Nick replied with a wink, emphasising his Texan accent. "And you'd never guess who drives an exact same pick-up truck."

"Jerome Kessler?" Catherine hazarded, not so randomly.

Nick looked confused. "What did I miss? How did you know?"

"We're following the same hunch," Sara explained.

"But we checked at the time. We ran a DMV check on him," Catherine said with disbelief. "He only had the Porsche registered in his name."

Noah started to become restless in Nick's arms so Sara silently offered to take him from him.

Nick smiled as he swapped Noah for his results sheet. "It looks like he had literally just purchased the truck the day before the abduction and the paperwork hadn't gone through yet," he replied with a slight shrug. "There's nothing we could have done about it then and besides, we never really believed he was a suspect."

"What about the hair and the blood? Has Wendy extracted DNA from that yet?" Sara asked while she picked up Noah's bag in order to go and change his diaper.

Nick swayed his head from side to side in ambivalence. "She's still working on the blood…" He was going to add something but stopped short.

Sara straightened up apprehensively as she guessed at his hesitation. "It's all Gil's, isn't it?" she whispered.

Nick nodded and sighed. "So far. But she's still got a bit to go," he added optimistically. "She managed to extract some DNA from the hair we recovered. We know it's not Alison's because it came back XY." Nick paused just long enough to shake his head at Sara's silent 'did we get a match from CODIS' query. "But in view of my findings, I asked her to compare it to Alison's DNA."

"Good," Catherine said, glancing at her watch. It was already 7.30 am. "We're this close to nailing him," she said, holding up her thumb and index fingers together. "Okay, I'll notify Jim. See if he can get started on the warrant. I'm going to convene the lab techs in the layout room in an hour and see what the evidence says. I have a meeting with Ecklie first. I'll see you both then."

* * *

"Hello?" the little girl whispered hoarsely as only a child could. "Hello?" she asked again as she softly scratched at the outside of the door to get attention. "Can you hear me?"

She waited a little while, her ear glued to the door but got no reply. She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming up the stairs or could overhear her and then she crouched down on the floor to try to peer through the thin gap at the bottom of the door. She could see nothing but darkness.

"Is somebody there?" she tried again, whispering loudly through the crack. She got up and tapped softly on the door all the while making sure that she was on her own. She knew she wasn't allowed upstairs but she had heard the loud noises, the hushed anxious and arguing voices and the loud thumping as though something big was being hauled up the stairs late in the night when they thought she had been asleep.

And she was really hoping that that something big was someone else – another child maybe that had been taken like her – someone who was locked in that room and couldn't get out, someone who didn't want to be there either. Maybe she could get them out. Maybe together they could find a way to escape.

She tried the handle but knew it would be futile, that it would be locked as were all the doors of the rooms she wasn't allowed in, even the windows were locked. She had tried them all. She had even tried banging on them and calling for help but no one had ever heard her; no one had ever come to her rescue. She had been locked in too, at the beginning – before she got to learn the rules and boundaries, before she learnt to be a very good girl and do as she was told. Only after, she had been allowed out of the room during the day. Things weren't as bad since.

"I don't have very long," she continued in a whisper. "We must be careful or _Daddy_ will not be happy and I don't like it when he's not happy. You won't like it either. He becomes someone else."

She looked at the door one last time. "Okay," she murmured, disappointed and a little downcast as she fought to keep the tears from falling. For her _Daddy_ didn't like her to cry. "I've got to go now because I can hear them – they've almost finished. But don't worry; I'll come back up again as soon as I can. I promise."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Apologies if you had visions of a hair-pulling, eye-gouging, mud-wrestling scene between Sara and Catherine. How disappointed must you be! Also, stop grumbling, all of you! I promise we'll get to learn Grissom's fate in the next chapter but I wanted to introduce the little girl first…Thanks again for everybody's patience, continued support and kind words of encouragement. Hopefully now, I'm back on track but pacing myself a bit more. Please, leave a review…


	27. Chapter 27

"Where's everyone?" Greg asked Sara as he peered round Catherine's office door.

Sara looked up and over her shoulder and smiled at Greg. "Catherine's in a meeting with Ecklie and Nick's still in the garage."

Greg frowned. "Still working on the X5? I thought we'd done all we could with it."

Sara shook her head. "He's documenting the timeline on the…"

"The Rosie Perkins's case?"

Sara nodded as she passed Noah another stacking brick for him to put on top of his rickety tower. She had laid out a blanket on the floor for the two of them to sit on while they waited for news. "I don't know about Riley but I think she may be helping Ray with the robbery case from last night," she added.

Greg came into the office and crouched down to give the little boy a new brick. "How did you find him?" he asked. Sara lifted her brow in confusion. "The professor," Greg elucidated quickly.

"I only met him in passing but he looked nice, like he fitted right in," Sara replied easily. "Shouldn't you be going home to catch up on some sleep? Shift ended a while ago."

"Nah," Greg replied. "I want to catch up. Besides, I've missed the little dude."

Sara narrowed her gaze at the hidden message in Greg's statement and looked up to see him grin cheekily. Meanwhile, Noah had clumsily crawled his way to the CSI who promptly picked him up and pretended to throw him in the air, rewarding Greg with great squeals of delight.

"Damn," Greg exclaimed light-heartedly as he set Noah back down, "he's looking more and more like his father everyday."

Sara laughed as she watched Noah crawl back to her and awkwardly clamber up onto her lap before pulling himself upright in order to reach up and put his fingers in her mouth. She pretended to nibble them which caused the little boy to giggle in glee. Greg could only watch on, a wistful smile on his face, mesmerised by the sight before him. He sighed. There was only one person missing to complete this idyllic tableau. Greg's face clouded over as he thought of Grissom and the uncertainty surrounding his well-being.

"How are you really doing?" he asked quietly after a while.

The question took Sara by surprise and she looked up, tilting her head "so, so". Eyes brimming with tears, she lowered her gaze, smiling wistfully as she watched Noah play.

Greg nodded and reached out a hand across the little boy to give Sara's an affectionate squeeze. Sara instinctively leaned into his touch for an instant as she allowed a few silent tears to fall, tears that she quickly wiped away.

After a while in silence just watching Noah play, Sara said, "You know, I've been thinking and…something Gil said has been bugging me." She smiled as she realised the irony of her words. She shook her head dismissing the idea and got up to move behind Catherine's desk.

"What is it, Sara?" Greg asked as he followed her up.

"I don't know," she sighed. "Gil said that he thought Heather was the key to this case; that she had to know the person who took Alison but she just didn't know who it was. Now if that's the case, I can't help thinking that it can't be Jerome. Gil knows him and he never mentioned anything untoward. Besides, if Jerome had Alison, Heather would know, wouldn't she?"

Greg shrugged. "We'll know soon."

Sara nodded distractedly as she stared off into the distance.

Greg frowned. "Sara, I know you. There's something else. Come on, spill."

"I don't know. It's a stupid idea," she said not meeting his gaze.

"Sara, tell me and I'll tell you whether it's crazy or not."

She turned and smiled sheepishly. "I…was thinking…maybe…I could go and see Heather. Gil was going to try to speak to her and discuss possible suspects. Maybe _I_ can do it and get her to open up."

Taken aback, Greg was struggling to find the words to reply.

"I told you you'd think I was nuts," Sara said, shaking her head.

"No. It's not that. It's just…" Greg let his concern hang in the air.

"I know what you're thinking Greg and I appreciate your concern. But their history is just that – history. And we're way past all that now."

"It can't hurt to speak to her, I guess," Greg agreed hesitantly after a while.

"What have we got to lose?"

"Nothing." Greg let out a sigh as he checked his watch. "When are you thinking of going to see her?" he asked. "I have a little time this afternoon. I could look after Noah for you."

"Thanks Greg but I got it covered. Besides, I'll only need to go if the DNA results don't pan out."

Greg nodded and watched her for a moment. "You look beat."

She turned, shaking her head in amusement. "Trust you not to mince your words," she replied with a snort.

Greg lifted one shoulder in a small rueful shrug. "Unfortunately, I've got to be at court at ten and I need to look over the case notes…"

Sara nodded. "Go. We'll be fine."

"You take care of yourself," he murmured into her hair as he pulled her into a tight hug.

Pulling away, Sara softly kissed him on the cheek. "I will, quit worrying."

* * *

When Grissom eventually woke up after what could have been minutes, hours, or days even out cold – he wasn't sure – a small distant child's voice was still resounding in his head.

_A child?_

Was it real?

_Could it have been Alison? _

Or was that just wishful thinking on his part? Everything felt so muddled, so fuzzy in his mind, so remote…so unreal, as though he was waking from a long slumber. He clearly remembered breaking down and then being held at gun point; the ensuing fight; one gunshot; the kick in the jaw followed by another shot and then…

_I must have got knocked out. _

The rest…he tried to concentrate and gather his thoughts to what had happened after that but could only draw a blank.

He remembered the sharp pain. He still could feel pain now, an excruciating yet strangely distant pain all over his body – or was he imagining it? Trying as he might he was unable to localise the source and which part of his body was injured. This was weird; it was as if he could feel the agony of his own injuries through someone else.

_Have I been shot?_ _Am I in shock?_ _Is that it? Haven't they found me yet? _

Then he remembered that he was supposed to call Sara back.

_Oh, Sara, my love, you must be beside yourself…_

He tried to move his head a little but found that he couldn't. It felt like an invisible force was keeping him still.

He willed his eyes to open but they wouldn't. He had no control over them as though they were glued shut.

He tried lifting his arm, flexing his hand, wriggling his finger. Surely he could wriggle his finger.

_My God, I'm paralysed._

He tried again. Arm, hand, finger. Nothing. He was trapped, a prisoner inside his own body; his mind alert whilst his body was unresponsive; his muscles refusing to comply with what his brain was instructing them to do.

_Except for breathing. I'm still breathing_,_ right? _

He started to panic.

_No. I can't be. I can't be dead. Dead people don't think...do they?_ _In a coma? That's it. It's got to be it. I'm in a coma; I'm aware, awake even but I can't move anything. _

_Someone please, help me. Sara? God, can't I even call for help?_

Grissom was growing more and more agitated inside although from the outside he looked a picture of serenity.

And he remained so, until out of the blue, he felt a soft hand brush the side of his face.

_Sara?_ _Thank God you're here. You came. You found me. I'm alive! Feel!_

Relief flooded him and in his mind he let a sigh of relief. He was going to be fine.

_Please, help me… Something's wrong with me. I can't move. Sara, talk to me…_

Yet, the feeling, the relief was only momentary as he slowly came to the realisation that the lingering touch wasn't Sara's familiar caress…

_Hang on a minute_, he mused. _How can I feel that when I don't have any other sensations? _

Something didn't feel right and he instinctively began to shy away from the coldness of the touch but his body still wouldn't cooperate. The hand gently moved down to the pulse point on his throat and then stroked its way back up to his mouth and yanked down the gag he hadn't known had been covering it. He could feel fingers hovering above him, fingers that eventually settled over his eyes and, after roughly pushing up what he could only guess was a blindfold, those cold fingers slowly pushed his eyelids up.

Fighting against what was being done to him, Grissom automatically attempted to shut his eyes but to no avail. He was helpless. Eyes open wide, he was staring straight in front of him into pitch black.

_Please, let this be the paramedics, _he hoped with all his might yet knowing deep down that it wasn't.

A deep feeling of dread and hopelessness invaded him and Grissom could feel the loud thumping of his pulse in his throat in response to his increasing terror. He was at someone's mercy. He knew whoever had touched him moments earlier was still there. He could feel their presence. He saw what appeared to be a shadow move somewhere in the room.

_A room? Where am I? At the hospital?_

Then a sidelight was switched on; a dim glimmer filtering in from his left. Not that he was able to move his eyes left or right to check. They were still staring unblinkingly straight ahead.

_Who are you? What are you doing to me?_

Words, questions formed in his brain, very clear sentences that his mouth wouldn't move to utter.

And then, a voice spoke, a chilling voice he recognised all too well. "Ah, Mr Grissom…Gil; there you are. You don't mind if I call you Gil, do you?" The voice paused. "I've been waiting for you to wake up. I thought for an instant I might have given you too strong a dose."

_Dose? I was drugged?_

As if reading his mind, the voice replied mockingly, "You were. How else was I going to restrain a big strong fellow like you?" The shadow moved directly into Grissom's eye line and for the first time since the struggle in the SUV the previous evening Grissom saw his attacker. "It couldn't be helped, I'm afraid," he said casually. He paused and bent over to peer deep into Grissom's open eyes. "You know," he added with an evil smile, "They say the eyes are the pathway to the soul and I think they may be right as in your case, your eyes are doing all the talking right now."

Grissom willed his eyelids to close but they refused to move.

"I know it's frustrating" the aggressor sympathised with a fake smile. "Oh, hang on. Before I forget, there's something I need to do." He fetched a camera from a nearby table and took a quick Polaroid of Grissom. "There. A little proof, as promised."

_Proof? Of what?_

After taking the photograph from the slot and patiently waiting for the image to appear, Grissom's kidnapper held it up for him to see and for the first time Grissom realised what he looked like; despite the darkened bruised and bloodied skin his body looked otherwise lifeless and still. His face was battered and expressionless even with his eyes open wide. To all intent and purposes, Grissom looked…dead.

It was like staring at a picture of his own corpse.

Grissom wanted to struggle free and concentrated all his effort into doing that and although he didn't succeed to move, to his amazement this time he managed a half-blink.

"The drugs are started to wear off," Grissom's captor observed on noticing the slight twitch. "Good. It is no fun if I do this all on my own. I like a bit of participation. It'll only take a few more minutes for you to regain full capacity."

Grissom slowly blinked his eyes a few times and lost track of the man's movement as he realised that he was gradually regaining movement in his extremities too. Minutes passed in silence and the next thing he knew,a bright light was shone directly in his face and hit Grissom with such force that he was reduced to squeezing his eyes shut just to stop the searing pain and headache the onslaught of light was bringing. He instinctively lifted his arm up to shield his eyes and although he briefly felt relief at being able to move it, he only succeeded on moving it a few inches before it rapidly got held back by restraints. His feet were bound too.

Amused, the man shook his head. "You need to pull on these gently, Gil, they're designed to lock if you tug at them. I thought you already knew all that."

As the drug was wearing off, the pain from his injuries came back with a vengeance and he couldn't help grimacing in agony and he was left squirming on the bed unable to get away from the blinding light. Satisfied that he had Grissom exactly where he wanted him his abductor turned the light away and made himself comfortable straddling a chair by the side of the bed.

"Take a good look around," he said. The captor's smile was slow as he expectantly waited for Grissom's reaction. "What do you think? Will she like it?"

The man laughed at Grissom's stunned silence. "Do you not like what you see? Does all this make you uncomfortable? You do appear rather straight-laced. When Lady Heather liberated me," he said with evident satisfaction and pleasure, "and taught me to embrace who I truly was, it opened me to the world." He paused meditatively.

When Grissom opened his mouth to talk he felt a sharp pain stab his jaw and he winced as he uttered almost inaudibly, "You're a sick, perverted..."

The man's evil chortle stopped Grissom dead in his tracts. "That's a matter of opinion," he declared, suppressing a shiver of excitement as he intently watched Grissom writhe and struggle on the bed. "You will soon regain your full mobility and with it the pain of your injuries. You were shot by the way and I fear your jaw might be broken but I'm no doctor." He smiled mercilessly.

"Why-" Grissom tried almost inaudibly. His tongue felt numb and the mere act of opening his mouth hurt him like hell. He cleared his throat and his words were slurred and no louder than a rasped whisper when he asked, "Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

"Do you wish I had?" The man frowned. "I'm surprised. From what I understand, you have a lot to live for," he said in a rather enigmatic and evil tone.

Grissom remained unblinking. _How would he know? He knows nothing about my life._

"I thought about it," the man continued, answering Grissom's question, "only flittingly though but then decided that it would be more fun to toy with you and keep you alive, until something or someone better comes along," he smiled with a nod to the rest of the bedroom.

"You missed your chance. She will never come willingly."

"Oh, I think I still have some bargaining power, don't you?"

"You made a mistake not killing me."

"Did I? Don't concern yourself with that. I have a plan." He smiled. "I spoke to…your princess – Sara is it? It's a beautiful name – and told her the sad news of your demise."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?" The man took out Grissom's cell from his pocket and wriggled it about teasingly. "You think I'm bluffing? Shall I call her again?" he said as he scrolled down the list of names.

"No," Grissom murmured, resigned.

The man nodded. "Very well." He carelessly dropped the cell back in his coat pocket and reached for Grissom's wallet. "I tell you what though. I made a fascinating discovery." He turned the wallet over in his hands a few times before flipping it open. "Isn't it interesting that what we keep in our wallets should reveal so much about ourselves?"

_Oh, no. Dear God, please no._

"Are these vacation snaps?" he said as he pulled out two photographs. He studied them carefully for a while.

Fuelled with rage and anger Grissom kicked his legs and tugged at his binds again in a desperate attempt at loosening them but the more he pulled the tighter they got and the more frustrated and worked up Grissom became.

"Such a beautiful family," the man remarked, getting turned on as he lightly traced the outline of Sara's face with his finger.

His body pumped up full of adrenaline, Grissom struggled with renewed vigour but could only look on helplessly. "You son of a bitch, if you dare lay a finger on either of them, I'll…"

The man smirked. "You'll do what? Come on! Let me hear it."

Exhausted and defeated, Grissom dropped his head.

"I have to give it to you. You choose your women well."

_Women?_

"Tall, dark and…feisty by the sound of her on the phone. I wonder what she would be like in the flesh," he said with a sadistic smile as he intently peered at Sara on the picture. He pressed his index finger to his lips and became thoughtful for a moment. "She looks strangely familiar," he mused and then he shook his head. "You're a lucky man, Gil." A shadow clouded the man's features as he pondered his own words. "Do you love them?" he said looking up to stare into Grissom's eyes. He snorted. "Your eyes betray you – again."

Belatedly, Grissom averted his gaze.

"Of course you do and she does too, I could tell when we spoke. Me," he continued with a shrug, "I was robbed of that chance."

His captor held the second photograph out for Grissom to take. "Come on, take it!" the man ordered short-tempered when Grissom made no moves to do so.

Grissom took the photo with a trembling hand. He didn't need to look at it to know which one he had been given. But the pull was too great and he shakily turned it over. He felt his face get hot and a lump formed in his throat as he looked down at the newborn peacefully sleeping in his mother's arms; an exhausted Sara watching over him with so much pride and love. He couldn't help the unintentional and unconscious smile that appeared on his features at the fond memories this brought back. He remembered very vividly the day the shot had been taken at the hospital in San Jose an hour or so after Noah's birth.

The man's mocking laughter soon brought Grissom out of his short recollection. His head bowed, Grissom closed his eyes and swallowed the lump, keeping his gaze averted until the rush of nausea passed. The pain he felt at that moment was so sharp and so much greater than that of his physical injuries that it was cutting him like a knife.

The kidnapper got up and smiled as he snatched the picture from Grissom's grip. "I'll leave these there," he whispered placing the photographs on the bedside table. "I'll leave the blindfold off so you can look at them because this is the last you'll ever see of them." He got up from the chair. "I have to go now; it's time for me to spend some time with _my_ little princess downstairs. She's truly delightful."

"What are you doing to her, you sick bastard?"

The man shrugged as he walked toward the door. "I'm simply being a good daddy – nothing more."

The thought of what Alison was being subjected to revolted Grissom who kicked out in anger. "They're on to you," he warned. "You're deluded if you think you're going to get away with this."

The man snorted as he walked back to the bed. He kept his gaze locked with Grissom's as he smiled. He then leaned down close to Grissom's face, whispering coldly, "They won't make it in time."

He slowly reached out a hand to trace the outline of Grissom's jaw all the way down to his throat before grabbing Grissom's neck with his open palm crushing his windpipe mercilessly. Grissom bravely tried to hold the man's gaze but with his feet and arms bound there was nothing he could do except choke as he struggled to breathe.

The aggressor tightened his grip on Grissom as he let out an evil chilling laugh. With his other hand, he pulled the scarf up over Grissom's mouth. By that point, Grissom's eyes were bleary, his boby limp and he was close to passing out. "You talk too much," the tormentor said releasing his hold on Grissom before moving away to switch the light off.

He quietly opened the door and glanced back over his shoulder at the injured man coughing and gasping for air. He smiled one last time as he bid, "Sweet dreams, Mr Grissom."

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: We're all at the mercy of someone else and I, at the mercy of the critics. Please, leave a review and let me know whether you're still 'enjoying' this. I've got one more chapter ready to post before I leave for four weeks to go back home where I will be without _easy_ internet access. _Easy_ being the operative word. But if the demand was there, I could always look for ways…let me know. Sylvie.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: I hope you like this as my fingers typed most of this chapter of their own accord. I take no responsibility for that. The good news is that I've managed more than I thought I would so I'm hoping I can have one short update tomorrow too before I leave and then…I'm not sure. Enjoy and remember to leave a review; they are greatly appreciated!

* * *

Slightly breathless, Sara quickly pushed the layout room door open and murmured her apologies when she realised everyone was already there, waiting for her. She briefly smiled her thanks to Catherine and Ecklie for holding off and went to stand next to Nick.

"Okay," Catherine said with a look at each of the eight people gathered around the table. "Let's make this quick. Who wants to start?"

"I will," Mandy said in a small voice. She cleared her throat. "Unfortunately, I haven't got much. All the prints came back to Grissom and Heather Kessler. Inside and outside the SUV," she added with a sigh. "Nothing on the crocodile clips or the bullets either. Either everything was wiped clean or the assailant was wearing gloves."

"What about DNA, Wendy, do you have better news?" Catherine asked turning her head to the left.

"Well," Wendy replied cautiously. "As you know the hair Nick found isn't Alison's. It belongs to an unknown male with no common alleles with the little girl."

"Well, that rules out our only viable suspect, the paternal grandfather," Nick declared. He slammed his fist on the layout room table. "Damn! The evidence was taking us there too!"

"Are you sure?" Sara whispered with a quick smile to Wendy.

Wendy silently nodded her head. "I triple checked to be sure. There's no doubt."

"Has Brass been notified?" Ecklie asked, turning to Catherine.

"Not yet," Catherine replied brusquely. "I was with you, Conrad; this is news to me too."

"I'll do it now," Ecklie said moving away from the table, ignoring Catherine snappiness.

"What about the blood?" Nick inquired, once again composed and his tone hopeful. "It can't have all been Grissom's."

"No, it wasn't," Wendy continued hesitantly, unsuccessfully searching Sara's gaze. "Roughly half the samples you got from the headlining and windshield match the DNA from the hair-"

Sara sucked in a sharp breath as she realised the implications of Wendy's words even before they were uttered.

Wendy murmured, "I'm so sorry, Sara. I looked for you before to tell you but…"

Sara nodded absent-mindedly at Wendy but her bleary gaze was fixed, focussed on a distant point on the wall. When she eventually shook herself out of her daze the smile she offered Wendy seemed forced, her lips only managing a downward curve as the kidnapper's callous words still echoed in her mind.

_Gil has had an unfortunate accident which sadly resulted in his death._

What was she to believe? What her heart was telling her – that Grissom was alive – or the evidence? Had Grissom's attacker been telling the truth when he had called her the previous night? She had been so convinced he had been lying she hadn't paused to consider the alternative. Hell, she couldn't face the alternative. The alternative would destroy her.

_No Sara, trust your heart. Damn the evidence, just this once._

Sara clenched her eyes closed as though the mere gesture could clear her mind of the awful thoughts swirling deep within her. She looked so tense, clutching the edge of the table to stop her hands from shaking and her from wavering. She had to be strong. She would not lose it. She would not let the bastard win. She would not cry.

Noticing Sara's inner struggle and evident distress, Catherine swallowed the knot in her throat as she whispered, "Sara, do you want to take a moment? We can do this without you if-"

"No. I'm fine," Sara cut in tersely. She straightened up, squaring her shoulders determinedly. "I need to be here. I tried to prepare myself. I knew…" her voice faltered and Nick reached out and placed his hand on top of hers in silent comfort. She tilted her head toward him a little and returned the squeeze as though by doing so she would be able to draw some of his strength. "I knew…" She angrily wiped at a rogue tear threatening to fall. "I knew this was a possibility. We knew someone had been shot and I knew Gil had to have been…injured to have been overpowered." She shook her head and looked at Catherine dead in her eyes. "I need to do this. Please, Catherine, let me." She forced another tight smile. "I…please, carry on."

Catherine nodded and turned her head giving a meaningful glance at Bobby Dawson, at the same time as Ecklie was rejoining the group, whispering to Catherine as an aside, "Brass says that Alec Foster hasn't left Massachusetts since he's been back from Vegas and he hasn't had any luck yet with regards to finding Kessler. He's currently tracking his movements in some god-forsaken place in Utah-"

Catherine lifted a hand, halting the under-sheriff mid-sentence. "It doesn't matter about Kessler. He's not our guy." Faced with Ecklie's quizzical frown, she added, "I'll fill you in later."

Ecklie gave a quick nod in reply just as the ballistics Tech was beginning to talk. "Well, all I can say for sure is that the bullets were fired from a Smith & Wesson revolver taking .357 Magnum cartridges, most probably a Lady Smith."

Nick's head snapped up. "A Lady Smith?" he repeated. "That's a bit strange, isn't it? If the perp's male?"

Bobby shrugged.

"Maybe he borrowed it from a female accomplice," Sara mused aloud.

"That's all I have," Bobby said a little despondently at his inability to help.

Sara smiled her thanks and redirected her gaze to Bobby's right. "What about you, David? You haven't said very much."

Startled, the Trace tech looked up from staring at the sheets in front of him. "Hum…I…was taking it all in," he replied uneasily. "I…" He gave a slow shake of his head as he tried to refocus his thoughts.

"David?" Catherine prompted, "Do you have anything on the soil collected on the seats?"

Hodges snapped his head round to Catherine and found it easier to address her than Sara. "Hum… yes. Two different types of soil, to be precise; the first one, more prominent, is generic and a mixture of sand and dirt very common to these parts; nothing particular or interesting about it. It's just…plain desert sand. But I did get a little trace of eroded limestone, which is more commonly known as white sand and which is not indigenous to this area at all. The only local places I can think of with that type of sand are some of the man-made beaches on the shores of Lake Mead where sand had to be imported. As you know, typically the sand around the Lake is derived from volcanic basalts and is rich in magnetite which gives it its grey-blackish colour. Other than that…" he shrugged. "Sorry I can't be more specific."

"Actually, David," Sara said, surprisingly enthusiastically considering her earlier distress, "It…sort of confirms what Archie was telling me."

Stunned, Hodges looked up and gave Sara a bemused smile. "It does?"

Smiling, she nodded as she continued, "The call the perp made to my phone used a connection from tower thirty-five on the turn-off from the I-93 five miles east of Boulder City onto Lakeshore Road on Highway 166. We didn't think we could get anything from that but…it can't just be a coincidence." She looked at everybody in turn around the table.

Nick chipped in, "If we correlate the transmitter signals from tower thirty-five with beaches where white sands is found-"

"We got ourselves a search area," Sara finished for him, her face lit up with excitement at the possible breakthrough.

"It's a bit of a long shot, isn't it? The area is several hundred square miles," Ecklie countered. "For all we know, the…white sand could easily just be simple transfer or… the attacker could have made his call while on his way into Arizona."

Sara turned toward the under-sheriff and lifted one shoulder in a gesture that seemed to say 'What else have we got? What else can we do?' "Besides," she told him in a murmur, "it's more than we had yesterday."

Ecklie smiled uncomfortably and nodding his head, he said, "Do what you need to do to find them. I'll sign the overtime and if you need more resources on this," he added glancing at Catherine, "let me know, I'll sort something out." He smiled again at Sara and left the room.

Catherine promptly thanked the labrats for their hard and fast work and they soon followed Ecklie out. Before exiting the room, Hodges walked up to Sara and offered her a well-intentioned if awkward smile before turning toward Nick. "I'll go and get started on researching the exact areas where eroded limestone was imported."

Nick nodded. "I'll join you as soon as I can," he said to Hodges's hastily retreating form.

"Why don't you go and get some rest? You look like you need it," Catherine told a yawning Sara.

Sara was about to retort that she was fine, that she was going to help Hodges and Nick but seemed to check herself. Thinking that she had neglected Noah long enough since they had got to Vegas she reluctantly gave Catherine a slight nod of the head.

"Have you got somewhere to stay?" Nick asked.

Sara smiled at Nick's unspoken invitation to stay at his place if she needed to, but said, "Thanks Nick but we're staying at Jim's."

"Do you need a ride?"

Sara shook her head. "I'd rather you got started with Hodges. I'll get a cab."

"It's all right, Nicky," Catherine said. "I'll take care of it. Jim's is on my way home anyway. We can stop at mine first and I could cook you some breakfast?"

Sara nodded her thanks. "I'll go and get Noah and meet you at the lot."

* * *

Clad only in his boxer shorts, Grissom had been laying in the dark, spread-eagle, gagged, wrists and ankles shackled to the bedposts for so many hours now that his muscles were numb and weak from pain and immobility. By continuously moving his head from side to side and carefully pushing the scarf out with his tongue and lips, he had succeeded in partially uncovering his mouth so that he was now able to breathe a little more easily, if still agonisingly painfully.

He was truly worn out and on the verge of once more succumbing to his exhaustion and physical demands his untreated and un-medicated injuries were making on his body. He was hurting so much he couldn't even pinpoint where the pain was coming from anymore. The lack of food and water wasn't aiding him either and he was feeling weaker and weaker as time went on. As well as his broken jaw, he suspected a few cracked ribs and that the pain stabbing through his leg was probably the result of the gunshot wound, which in turn was causing the shock and fever he was currently experiencing.

He hadn't dared shut his eyes for fear of falling asleep lest his captor returned and injected him with more drugs but couldn't help sporadically drifting in and out of consciousness. He had been stripped of his clothes and possessions and he had realised belatedly that as well as his cell and wallet, his watch and wedding ring had also been taken from him.

Grissom's eyes had gradually got accustomed to the darkness surrounding him and, however hard he tried to keep his gaze glued to the ceiling, without meaning to his gaze kept wandering to the S&M paraphernalia all around him. The room had been equipped and decorated so that it was an exact replica of the purposely-built room Heather used to have in her house when it was still known as The Dominion. Keeping his gaze averted was the only way to keep the nausea at bay as the mere thought of what his captor intended to use this equipment for made him sick.

Despite lying almost naked atop the bed, he was still sweating profusely; the sweat that was soaking him had begun to drip into his eyes, obscuring his vision. He was doing his utmost to stay alert and more importantly awake by focusing his mind on thinking up more and more desperate and intricate plans to get his kidnapper to undo his restraints the next time he came but could only draw blanks.

And while Grissom's head kept its incessant unconscious digging into the bed his mumblings got progressively more garbled as his fever grew and his mind got even more distracted from its task of staying awake. Finally beaten, he surrendered to the inevitable and stopped fighting against his body. His eyelids were drooping again heavy with fatigue and he had no strength left in his reserves to stop them as his mind drifted back to happier times. He knew that if he indulged himself in the joyful memories he might never have the strength or the willpower to wake up but the pull was just too great.

It was so good to finally sleep and he sighed; a long contented sigh at finally finding some well-being, respite and peace of mind as he sank deeper into what he could only call bliss.

_Just for a while. A short while. One minute_. _Just shut your eyes for one short minute._

_The roar of the great big waves, crashing along the surf churning the sand from the bottom engulfs me_. _That's right. I remember now. I know where we are, where you've taken me. _

_We'd been walking in the jungle; you'd been showing me around. "There's one more thing I want to share with you," you said to me but I was knackered and lagging in enthusiasm. I remember you taking my hand and tugging me forward. You couldn't wait to show me. You couldn't wait to get there. You began to run, pulling me with you and gripping your hand was all I could do to keep up. _

_I remember the laughter as we got to the beach. Oh, how I so remember your laughter – or was it mine? – and our happiness after so many months of sorrow and heartache. _

_And as suddenly as you'd taken it, you dropped my hand and I was left panting, stopping to catch my breath while you ran on ahead to the water's edge. It was a while before you realised I wasn't there with you and you turned round from staring at the ocean, smiling shyly. What you had to be shy about, I'm not sure but you were the most beautiful sight I had ever seen and I was left speechless as you stood with the ocean as backdrop, your hair flying in your face, your eyes squinting into the afternoon sun, smiling…at me._

_Teasing, you unbuttoned your blouse and I could only shake my head in disbelief at what you were suggesting. Yet, my response to your silent invitation was already tugging at my mouth. Before I knew it, before I'd even made a move you had stripped down to your underwear._

_My eyes widened at the vision and I remember blushing…blushing! Can you believe it? And I found myself quickly scanning the beach for prying eyes but it was deserted and it was just you and me…and the ocean. _

_But of course, you already knew that._

_I couldn't help but shake my head again at your effrontery but unconsciously my hands and fingers were already fumbling with my clothes and I soon found myself in my boxers as I joined you at the water's edge. I will never forget the shock and disbelief in your eyes when I surprised you by removing my shorts and tossing them in the water as I lay myself bare to you._

_And there I was, grinning, exposed._

_We were splashing, laughing as we ran into the water and I was holding your hand pulling you further in with me. You tugged me back worried we were venturing too far out but I insisted. We were only waist deep, it was perfectly safe. It'd been so long since we'd had that much fun. I didn't want it to end. I felt like a kid. You relented and followed me in, instinctively tightening your hold of my hand. I remember looking back and smiling at you as I tried to silently convey with that one smile that we were safe, we were fine, that I was never going to let you go. _

_Trust me, I told you without words. And you did. You do._

_We reached the point in the water past the crashing waves and you slowly relaxed your grip on my hand. You were giggling and the sound filled me with happiness. It still does. I was happy. Out of the blue, I turned around and I surprised you when I grabbed you by the waist and scooped you up high above the waves. Oh, the joy when I heard your squeals and shrieks of delight._

_I will never forget the look you gave me then, a look that said 'Don't you dare throw me in, Gilbert!' _

_I remember quirking my brow relishing the challenge. I curled my lips into a teasing smile and I winked. Smiling, you shook your head at me but you knew any attempts at stopping me were futile. I saw the resignation in your eyes as I lifted you up higher toward the sky and resigned to your fate, you closed your eyes, surrendering yourself to me, ready for the plunge._

_At the last minute, I changed my mind and I lowered you onto my body and waited. Eyes still squeezed shut, your face creased into a frown and you opened one eye to me, checking what I was up to and found me inches away from your face, intently watching your every reaction. You tilted your head to the side and smiled tenderly, so tenderly that my heartbeat seemed to take a rhythm of its own. You locked your eyes to mine and curled your long legs around my midriff. All laughter had stopped by then as our dancing eyes seemed to be doing all the talking and kissing while our mouths were still. _

_Then, you shivered._

"_Are you cold?" I asked in a whisper. You smiled, shaking your head. "Me neither," I said before reaching out my hand to tuck a strand of damp hair behind your ear. The touch caused another shiver and I brought my trembling hand to your eyes and began tracing their outline slowly as a blind man getting to know your face for the first time, imprinting the memory into my mind._

_You shivered again and I could feel your legs slipping down from me. I moved my other hand, the one not busy rediscovering you and put it on your ass so I could lift you back up and help support your weight. You laughed first and then gasped at the feel of my erection as I held you close. Your eyes widened partly in surprise and partly in anticipation of my plans and I could only shrug in a helpless way that seemed to say 'This is way beyond my control'. _

_I will never cease to be amazed at how well we fit together._

_My fingers took a life of their own and began their own slow discovery down below as with a tilt of my head I finally brushed my lips to yours. Not content with my meagre offerings, you pressed your lips over mine to deepen the kiss and my mouth automatically responded and parted to let you in. _

_Our bodies became one._

_In response, my legs turn to jelly and the next crashing wave combined with your weight made me fall backwards as I lost my footing and you tumbled on top of me. _

_I can still hear your resonating laughter now, your happy, carefree sound echoing with the roar of the wave as I slipped under._

"_Gil?" I heard you call your voice full of mirth at the situation. "Gil?" The laughter is gone and is quickly replaced by anxiety._

_What you don't know, what you can't see is that the waves have pulled me under and away and I'm struggling, struggling in the treacherous waters that had looked so benign a moment ago, struggling to come back to you. And I'm spinning, sinking deeper, sucked under by the current. _

"_Gil? Stop playing games. It's not funny."_

_I'm calling for help, crying for help but you can't hear me and every time I open my mouth, I just suffocate more as more cold water is shoved into my lungs and I know there is nothing I can do. I know I'm drowning but I'm not in pain, I'm not suffering. In fact, it's strange. The pain has gone. _

"_Gil, come back. You've gone too far. Goddammit Gil, you're scaring me."_

_I'm sorry, Sara. I can't do this. I just close my eyes and I'm letting go as I watch myself being transported into a higher state of bliss. _

"_Gil? DON'T YOU DARE DO THIS TO ME! DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE ME BEHIND!" _

_I can hear the despair in your voice, in your words but it's too late. I'm already gone. _

_I'm sorry._

"_DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING GIVE UP, YOU HEAR ME! I DIDN'T. I CAME CLOSE BUT I DIDN'T. I never did." _

It was so good to finally sleep and he sighed; a long contented sigh at finally finding some well-being, respite and peace of mind as he sank deeper into what he could only call bliss.

* * *

Tbc.


	29. Chapter 29

"Oh, hello. I wonder if you can help me. I'm not sure I came to the right desk."

Looking up, Judy replied with a welcoming smile, "What can I do for you, Sir?"

"I have a delivery – a letter for _Sara_. Is she here?"

"I'm afraid she's not," Judy said a little cautiously, concerned at the man's strange demeanour and lack of eye contact as he pulled his ball cap further down his nose. "But she will be in later. I can hang on to it if you'd like and give it to her then."

"Oh, would you? Thank you. I'd appreciate that."

Strangely the tone was pleasant enough when he replied and Judy shrugged off her original impression. "Do you wish to leave a message?"

"A message? No." He paused and smiled, thinking. "Just tell her that…this is all the proof she needs."

Judy frowned at the peculiar choice of words. "Is this related to a case? Should I get it to her now?"

"No. It's not urgent. Not at all. What is done is already done," the man said enigmatically.

Perplexed, Judy took the proffered envelope and turned it over. When she looked up again, the man had gone.

* * *

"Hello?" came the hoarse whisper through the gap at the bottom of the door.

"No. No. Please, no more drugs," Grissom groaned pleadingly. His head, clammy with perspiration, was erratically burrowing its way into the bed as though spinning out of control. He was mumbling incomprehensibly, calling Sara's name over and over again in his fever-induced delirium.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

Suddenly Grissom watched from above his own body being hauled out of the icy waters of the Pacific he had been drowning in. As he was being lifted out of the water, he felt a powerful rush of adrenaline kick-start his heart and he coughed and spluttered water as he took his first breath. _Sara? _Waking up with a start, Grissom snapped his eyes open, two dark blue orbits as clear as glass looking startled as he blinked uncertainly at his surroundings as he tried to get his bearings and realised what he had been living, feeling was just…his body's way of coping with his ordeal.

He wasn't certain of what had just happened but what he was convinced of at that moment was that he had miraculously made it back from the other side. Still shaken by the vivacity of his experience, he wondered briefly whether his captor had once more injected him with more drugs before letting a huge sigh of relief at the realisation that he could move and that the stabbing pain he was experiencing felt agonisingly real.

_Thank god._

The silence of the room, which had up to now as far as he was concerned only been punctuated by his ragged irregular breathing, was disturbed by a quiet foreign sound.

Strangely fully alert, as though sobered by the interruption, he turned his head toward the sound as he listened intently concentrating his bleary attention on the door.

Somebody was there, he was certain of it.

Could it have been the quiet scraping of a key being inserted into the lock as he most feared? His heart pounding at the thought, he waited a moment on tender hooks listening for the turn of the key in the lock but it never came. A minute or so passed and he relaxed a little thinking that the sound had simply been another figment of his imagination. But no! There it was again. And it wasn't the scraping of a key but rather what sounded like the soft scratching of nails on wood. He frowned.

"Sara?" he tried calling out, yet not making a sound.

"Hello?" he heard whispered hoarsely but very quietly through the door. Grissom squeezed his eyes shut wondering whether he was hearing things, whether his attacker had indeed succeeded in injecting him with a hallucinogen perhaps.

Yet when the soft voice that had sounded so real repeated softly "Hello? Can you hear me?" Grissom slowly reopened his eyes.

"Y-yes," he whispered back hesitantly, wincing in agonising pain. His mouth was dry and raw. He gulped back the tightness in his throat. "Y…es, yes…I can."

"Oh!" was murmured with obvious disappointment. "I thought you were someone else. I thought you were another child."

Grissom really had to strain hard to hear. _A child? A little girl? _"A…lison?" he called, his speech distorted because of his broken jaw. He heard no reply. "Alison? Is…is that you?" he tried again louder.

"Shhh…you're going to get us caught," Alison replied in a low voice. "How do you know who I am? How do you know my name? Who are you? You sound…old."

Grissom gave an involuntary snort at the words. "I've…been looking for you," he said very quietly. "My name is…Gil." He paused just long enough to cough uncomfortably. "I'm a friend of your grand-mother's."

"Mama?" Alison gasped her voice full of hope. Then, there was a pause. "I don't believe you. _Daddy _said he was a friend of mama's too and he lied."

"Oh, sweetheart, _I'm_ not lying. Heather…your mama is so worried about you."

"I miss her," Alison said with sudden tears in her voice. "Is she coming to get me?"

Grissom's heart broke at the young girl's heartache. "Oh, I'm sure she wishes she could. In fact I _know_ she would if she knew where you were. She misses you too," Grissom gasped. He tried to clear his throat. "Are you okay? Are you injured? Has the man hurt you?"

"_Daddy_?" Alison replied in a small cowering voice.

"Is that who he said he was? Your daddy?" Grissom sighed. "He's not your daddy, sweetheart."

"I know but if I call him that, he's nice to me."

_Nice to her?_ _Oh, dear God._ Horrified, Grissom turned his head away from the door and without meaning to, his gaze slipped to the shackles hanging from the ceiling. He mustered all his strength and asked again, "Has…does he hurt you, sweetie?"

Alison gasped audibly before saying in a scared voice, "Don't call me that! Please, don't call me that, I don't like it."

"I'm sorry," Grissom said softly. "I won't, I promise."

"Have you come to rescue me?"

Grissom let a breath out on hearing the desperate hope in Alison's voice as she asked the question. "I wish I had. I really do, but you know what? I know some people that are out looking for you."

"Are they looking for you too now?"

Grissom could only smile at the sweetness of the little girl despite her ordeal. "Yeah, for me too, I guess." There was a lengthy silence as Grissom pondered his next move. How could he get out of the room and get them both out of this nightmare? "Alison? Are you still there?"

"Yes, but I have to go soon."

"That's right, I remember, you're not allowed up here," he murmured with a frown, wondering where the recollection came from.

"You heard me before?"

"I guess I did. Listen, Alison, I may have an idea. Do you think you could help me? Do you think you could help me get out of this room? Do you know how to get the key to the door?"

"_Daddy _keeps all the keys in a locked drawer downstairs."

"Is that right? Okay, never mind. We'll find another way. Do…you know where we are, maybe?"

"No," she cried.

"Not to worry; the people that'll come and rescue us will figure it out…they'll follow the clues."

"But I didn't leave any clues."

"_I_ did," Grissom said with optimism. _I hope I did anyway._ "They'll find us soon."

"You promise?"

Grissom hesitated but he desperately wanted, needed to believe what he had just told Alison. "I promise," he said in a whisper.

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

Grissom gave a little chuckle that turned into a spluttering cough. "Yeah," he mumbled. Then a thought entered his mind. "Alison? Are you allowed outside at all?"

"No," came the quick reply. "I've only been outside once since I got here and that was for five minutes. They keep all the doors and windows locked."

_They?_ Grissom could tell the conversation was taking its toll on the five-year-old as he could hear her voice quaver as she began to cry quietly again. "That's okay, sweetheart," he tried to comfort. "You're very brave. Heather…Your mama would be very proud of you."

The little girl remained silent but he could make out her muffled sniffing.

_It can't hurt to try, can it?_ Grissom mused as he thought of another idea. "Alison? Do you think you could maybe try something for me?" he asked in a low voice. "Only if it's safe to do so."

"I don't know," she sniffled.

"My cell phone is in your…_Daddy_'s coat pocket. The blue one. Maybe, you could try to use the phone?"

"He doesn't like it if I touch his things."

"But if he doesn't know… maybe you could _try_. You don't need to take the phone; just press redial and then connect and leave it in his pocket. Do you know how to use a cell phone?"

"My mama taught me to call 911 in an emergency."

"That's even better, sweetheart," Grissom exclaimed with rising hope. "Could you try? But only if it's safe to do so, okay? You don't even need to talk. Just connect the call."

"Alison?" called a female voice from downstairs. "Where are you, sweetie? Are you in your room?"

Alison gasped in horror.

"Alison?" called the voice again, a bit louder, clearly getting annoyed. "A-li-son?"

Grissom could hear the little girl quickly scurry and tiptoe her way down the stairs as he inwardly berated himself for his carelessness for keeping her upstairs too long.

"What were you doing upstairs?" the woman shouted, her annoyance turning to anger. "You know you're not allowed up there."

"I'm sorry," Grissom heard Alison apologise tearfully. "Please, no… no," Alison pleaded. "Please, I won't do it again. I promise. Please, don't tell _Daddy_. Please, stop, stop!"

Grissom kicked and fought against his binds in frustrated rage at his powerlessness to help Alison. Furious tears filled his eyes as he listened to the little girl's desperate heart-breaking begging and he turned his head to the side concentrating his attention at the picture of Sara and Noah propped on the table by the bed in order to keep himself from crying out, screaming out at whoever was inflicting pain to the little girl to stop. But he knew that would only draw their attention to the fact that Alison had been to talk to him and it would undoubtedly make it worse for her. Make it worse for both of them. He had no choice but to bite his tongue and silently scream his pain.

"Why can't you do as you're told?" the female voice continued loudly. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"No, please," Alison sobbed. "Please, don't hurt me. I'll be good, I promise. Don't lock me in there again. Please. I'll do what you say-"

There was a loud bang as a door was slammed shut and then a deathly silence descended upon the house, a gut-wrenching silence that chilled Grissom to the bone. He squeezed his eyes shut at the hopelessness of the situation letting his silent tears escape out of the corner of his eyes and run down to the back of his neck before dripping onto the mattress.

He tried to gulp back the sob escaping straight from his heart but he couldn't and trying only made him cough and splutter painfully. Unable to contain this overcoming sorrow, this emotional torture worse than any physical pain inflicted on him, he let his rage and frustration flow out of his body through his grief-stricken sobbing while he silently prayed for his and Alison's salvation.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: As I said, a short update but this is it, for the time being. I won't get to reply to your very kind and generous reviews for a long while so I thank you in advance for reading and reviewing. It means a lot to me to know that after 29 chapters, you're still interested in this. I will try to update while I'm away, at least once. Take care et à très bientôt, Sylvie.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Bonjour from the Mediterranean…As promised, an update and a long one. :-) Probably two chapters in fact but hey, I owed you an update and I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Hesitant, Sara had been standing at the big heavy wooden door for a little while now before she eventually brought a tentative hand up to lift the knocker. She had never been to the Dominion and had only met its owner once before, three years ago, in the course of the investigation into Heather's apparent assisted suicide that had turned into a murder investigation.

She was still shaking her head in amusement at the fact that even after all this time she still felt intimidated by Heather or rather the persona of Lady Heather when she saw a shadow move behind the plate glass. Feigning a composure and detachment she was far from feeling, Sara plastered a fake smile on her face. Her shaky hands adjusted the collar of her jacket and flattened the unruly curls of her hair into a semblance of a style while she mentally chastised herself for her idiotic sudden lack of self-confidence.

Hearing the dead bolt turn in the lock, she swiftly dropped the smile.

"Sara," Heather murmured with a genuine, yet saddened smile as she opened the door a crack. If she felt uncomfortable being face to face with Sara after what had happened with Grissom only two nights previously she kept it hidden well. She was dressed casually in jeans and a tight-fitting blouse and Sara was pleased to notice that her face was bare of ostentatious makeup. Heather seemed genuinely pleased to see Sara despite the fact that she was mirroring her drawn-out, pale, haggard face, like neither of them had had a good night sleep.

After her husband's genuine concern about her fragile state of mind, the latter had been expecting a woman falling apart at the seams. Instead, she was met by the Heather Grissom saw and sometimes talked about, a woman who couldn't look and be more different from… the Lady Heather she had heard so much about.

Feeling surprisingly at ease in her presence, Sara smiled back. Her smile softened her features and erased the deeply-etched frown that had been, up to now, embedded into her forehead. "Heather, I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do."

"Please, come in," Heather offered as she moved back to make way for Sara to enter.

Sara nodded as she bent down to pick up Noah's change bag that she slung over her shoulder before moving to the side to grab the handle of the car seat that carried a wide-eyed and smiling Noah. When she stretched back up having secured her load she found Heather intently staring at the infant, a soft smile crossing her face. Astonished and speechless, Heather couldn't take her eyes off the beaming little boy. After a few seconds, her gaze came up to meet Sara's and Sara smiled knowingly.

Shaking her head, Sara let an involuntary chuckle. "Gil never told you, did he?" she said, her tone incredulous, yet not completely surprised.

Heather simply shook her head 'no', smiling. She held her hand out to Sara offering to carry Noah's change bag and stepped back to let her visitors in. Sara stepped into the house, put the car seat down and unstrapped Noah out of his chair before lifting him up to balance him on her hip. Heather just stood there, mesmerised by the sight. Sara looked up and couldn't help casting a quick glance around at her surrounding. She had never been there before but had heard Catherine's detailed descriptions of the house – the mansion, the dominion – and somehow having now seen it for herself she didn't feel quite so intimidated anymore.

"You have a beautiful home," Sara gasped as she admired the architecture and decors.

Heather nodded absent-mindedly, her gaze still fixed on Noah. "What's his name?" she asked timidly. "He's absolutely adorable."

"Thank you. We called him Noah."

"I can't think why he'd want to keep him a secret," Heather mused as she motioned Sara further into the house.

"You know Gil," Sara replied mildly with a shrug. "Either the thought never entered his mind or he was trying to be sensitive to…" Sara pursed her lips downwards as she thought about her next words carefully, "to your situation."

Heather nodded pensively. "Would you like to sit on the patio?" she asked as they got to the kitchen. "It's shaded and it won't be too hot out there for Noah."

"Sure. Whatever's easier for you."

"I'll make us a drink first," Heather said. "Tea? Coffee?"

"Actually, I'd prefer a soft drink if you have one. I've already had far too much caffeine for one day."

"It won't take a minute," Heather smiled. "Just…make yourself comfortable. It's through the French doors over there."

Sara was getting settled at the glass-topped table when Heather came out carrying a tray of drinks and a plate of biscuits. Setting Sara's juice in front of her, Heather said, "I can't say I was entirely surprised when you called." She smiled as she sat down. "You said you hoped I could help but I'm not sure I can."

Sara picked up the drink and took a small sip, keeping a watchful eye on Noah who was busy exploring; he was focused on crawling around the bright terracotta pots on the patio meandering his way toward the steps leading to the back yard. Although her gaze was fixed on her wandering son, her mind had taken a wander of its own. When she had finally made it to Brass's at midday after breakfast at Catherine's she had taken some time to think of a game plan on how best to broach the subject of the abductions, wary of unnecessarily upsetting Heather. And needless to say, now that she was in these strange surroundings, all her carefully laid-out arguments flew right out of her mind.

She refocused her gaze and attention on Heather and settled for what she did best – a straight-forward, no-nonsense, heartfelt and honest approach. Looking serious, she began "When I spoke to Gil yesterday-"

"Yesterday?" Heather cut in with a start. "He called you? He told you?"

Sara frowned unsure what Heather was referring to. Was Heather worried Sara knew about her 'mental breakdown' and Grissom's fear that she might try to take her own life? Was she ashamed lest he should have mentioned to Sara about her dependence on diazepam?

Edging her bets and unwilling to vex or worse, antagonise her hostess, Sara nodded with a wobbly smile. "Just before he…got taken," she paused to swallow the sudden tightness in her throat, lowering her gaze to the table. "He told me he believes the kidnapper is someone known to you, someone you know well and probably going back to the days of…" she waved a hand toward the house "…Lady Heather."

"You think the same man has them both?" Heather asked, silently gesturing toward the plate.

Sara nodded in reply as she politely took a biscuit. "Or woman," she carefully amended.

Heather sighed in relief. "If it's the case, it's a comfort to know Ali's not on her own…if she's not already dead." Heather took the time to wipe a tear that had gathered in the corner of her eye as she thought of Alison and what was happening to her. At the same time, she realised that what she had just said and she quickly apologised. "I'm sorry. That was really insensitive on my part. I didn't mean to imply that I…" Heather stopped herself short. "Woman? You think a woman could be behind all this? I hadn't thought about that possibility. I assumed after the witnesses' statements and the phone call I got that we were dealing with a male."

Sara pondered that for a while. "Well, we're definitely dealing with a man but this doesn't preclude him working with or for someone else."

Heather pursed her lips in thought and nodded.

"I know from talking to both Gil and Brass that they've both suggested someone from your past. Have you considered a past female client or the spouse of a male client?"

Heather was going to reply that she hadn't when she caught sight of movement to their left and she turned her head, her attention distracted by Noah who was trying to clamber down the steps leading to the back garden.

Sara followed her gaze and smiled indulgently. "Noah," she called gently in a warning tone. The little boy turned his head round to peer at his mother over his shoulder, halting his crawling. He grinned cheekily and looked back toward the steps, silently informing her of his plans. "Come back this way, little man," she warned but she was already on her feet scooping up the little boy up in her arms before he even saw her come. She quickly blew him a ticklish kiss on the section of his belly where his shirt had ridden up before setting him down on the shaded lawn, instructing him to stay away from the steps. Noah's carefree giggling brought another tear to Heather's eye, which she quickly wiped off, unnoticed before Sara returned to sit back down.

"He looks like you," Heather remarked quietly. "You're truly blessed. I wish I could have my time with Zoe again. I made a mess of that. I miss her dearly. Ali's been a godsend, a gift at a second chance…" the sentence died on her lips. "What you have is precious, Sara. I envy you it."

Sara nodded sombrely, thinking that it had only taken one event to destroy her fragile world and yet she couldn't help a slow smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she caught sight of Noah making a wide turn back toward the steps, completely disregarding her earlier warning.

Watching the little boy too, Heather laughed, saying, "He's got your free spirit and determination."

Sara snapped her head round toward Heather her brow etched into a curious frown.

Smiling, Heather added, "Grissom talks about you a lot. Or rather he used to. When he last stayed…well, no," she laughed a little nervously as she amended, "When he stayed last year, he..." she stopped herself short with a shake of the head. "Actually now that I come to think about it something he said yesterday is starting to make a lot more sense."

Sara's brow receded into her hairline.

"He didn't betray any secrets, if that's what you're worried about," Heather explained quickly, "but when he spoke about you and your new life, he had a glint in his eyes, the same sparkle you have in yours when you look at Noah. He was happy and I hadn't seen him such in a very long time."

Sara's face shut off at the mention of Grissom's emotional turmoil in the year prior to his leaving Vegas and she turned her attention to the backyard. "I know Gil values your friendship," she said staring off in the distance. "You've been a good friend to him over the years."

"As he to me."

Nodding, Sara turned her head toward Heather. "I know. Regardless, I could never thank you enough for what you did for him, for the support you gave him when _I_ couldn't…for what you did for us."

"I didn't do anything. I merely offered him a place, a haven where he could stay and keep a clearer head. I didn't make him do anything. Ultimately, everything he did was his choice." Heather licked her lips uneasily, hesitating. "Listen, Sara, about the other night. I don't know what Grissom has told you about it but I…he…we…" Heather pursed her lips, searching for the right words to explain what had happened and how she had betrayed Grissom's trust.

Misunderstanding Heather's hesitation to confide, Sara cut her off. "You don't have to explain," she said quietly, lifting her shoulders in an almost imperceptible shrug. "I think you're coping the only way you can. If…if anything were to happen to Noah or-"

"They're going to find him. They're going to find them both. They've got to."

"I know," Sara uttered almost inaudibly.

"You know in all the years we've known each other, he's never once asked me to call him Gil," Heather said more as a statement than as a question, attempting to lighten the mood a little.

Sara gave a little snort. "It took me eight years," she replied, leaving unspoken what both women knew; the reason being Grissom's need for boundaries. There was a lull in the conversation while Sara was thinking of a way to get back on track and find a way into Heather's psyche. Her expression shifted as she continued, "Listen, Heather, as much as I'm enjoying our chat we're skirting round the issue here and time is running out. We're not going to find them unless you help us. What little evidence we have isn't conclusive without a name. We believe Gil's abduction was a mistake and that you were the intended target. We also know that he got…injured during the struggle."

"I know. I spoke to Jim – Captain Brass this morning. I needed to know and he was kind enough to give me an update. Do you know how badly?"

Sara hesitated. Would Brass have mentioned the phone call she received from the abductor? Should she mention it, if he hadn't?

"Sara? What is it?" Heather probed kindly. When Sara didn't reply, Heather added, "Captain Brass was inquiring about Jerome when he called me this morning. He called him "a person of interest". Do you believe Jerome could have taken them? Is this what all this is about? Because if you do-"

"No, we don't," Sara cut in earnestly. "Not anymore. The abductor left his DNA in the X5 but it didn't have any common alleles with Alison's."

Confused, Heather tilted her head to the side. "I'm sorry. I'm not following you."

Sara ran a trembling hand through her hair. She was beginning to feel flushed and bothered and she reached for her drink, taking a long swig. "I…I spoke to the kidnapper and he told me that…that Gil, that Grissom was dead."

Heather gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.

"We…I…" Sara broke down, unable to finish her sentence. She glanced off across the patio, tears stinging her eyes.

"Oh Sara, I am so sorry."

Almost immediately, Sara clenched her eyes and set her jaw, fighting her emotions. "Please, Heather, don't," she whispered, raising her hand in a gesture that seemed to say that she didn't want Heather's pity or sympathy. "I'm all right. I'm fine. I'm sorry." She looked up and smiled tightly. "I don't believe he is dead. I think he's only messing with me."

"Well, the bastard's doing a good job. We're looking at someone twisted, sick who gets off on other's people pain-"

Heather's choice of words was unfortunate to say the least. "Does it sound familiar?" Sara asked harshly, almost glaring at Heather in reproach. "Does it ring any bells?"

Heather sighed. "Of course. In my line of work, I meet – met…"

But it was too much for Sara who was quickly losing control and she couldn't take anymore. She hurriedly got to her feet, saying, "I've got to go. I shouldn't have come. This isn't helping and Noah's going to want feeding soon and…" she stopped talking abruptly, her gaze scanning the backyard, searching for Noah.

Heather watched with interest Sara's gradual facial change. When the latter didn't see Noah straightaway, she panicked and felt a surge of adrenaline course through her, her legs almost giving way as her heartbeat hit the roof. Almost instantly though, she noticed Noah's brown mop popping up over the rim of a huge terracotta pot housing a dwarf palm tree as the little boy pulled himself up to peer at his new discovery and Sara's expression relaxed as relief washed over her.

Heather noticed Sara's inner struggle and opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it and remained silent. She then turned her head toward the little boy who completely oblivious to his mother's distress was giving the biggest yawn as he rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Why don't you feed him here?" Heather suggested. "I've got plenty of food and that way he won't fall asleep on the way home. You could always leave afterwards."

* * *

Something flat and icy cold was pressed against the side of his head, causing a stinging sensation so sharp that Grissom hissed in his sleep. Yet the cool was welcomed and he unintelligently moaned in gratefulness. Coming round from his unconsciousness he began tossing and wriggling on the bed, his face flushed with fever while he was letting out a jumbled incomprehensible hum. He was trying to respond to the sound of the voice that was speaking softly in his ear, the same female voice that had admonished Alison so severely only a few hours ago. Except this time her whispered words repeated the same mantra over and over again, urging him to wake up and open his eyes.

Grimacing, Grissom eventually blinked his eyes open and turned toward the origin of the voice, attempting to focus his blurry gaze enough to see the woman sat on the chair next to the bed. She was reaching across him, applying the cold compress to his broken jaw.

"Come on," she urged gently as he gradually came round. "I can't stay here too long. I've brought you something to eat."

"No," he mumbled warily. "No. I don't…want anything."

"You're weakening and you'll get worse unless you eat a little. I've made some soup. It's warm. You need to re-hydrate yourself a little."

"No," he croaked.

"What are you worried about?" She gave a small laugh. "You think I'm here to poison you?"

"Drugs."

"Watch," she said. Grissom turned his head to the side and watched her eat a spoonful. "You need some nourishment. I have soup. Do you think you can sit long enough to have some?"

Grissom muttered something in reply and wincing, moved his right arm to point out that it would be difficult with his injuries and the restraints.

The woman nodded, her expression seemingly showing some compassion toward Grissom. "I know it hurts but you need to make an effort. Contrary to Stephen, I don't wish for you to die here. If you remain still, I'll untie you for a little while."

Grissom nodded his head weakly and the woman pulled at the leather straps to loosen the buckles. It took all of Grissom's strength and concentration to be able to pull his arms down and out of the binds. She then did the same to his feet. While she carried out her task, the silence of the room was only punctuated by Grissom's laboured breathing and hard wheezing as he tried to move his deadened body. He had been bound in the same position for so long that his muscles were numb and feeling as heavy as lead. He could only wince and groan in pain as he weakly and shakily shifted them from their outstretched position.

"Come on, I'll help you up and we'll see whether you can keep some of this down," she murmured, nodding toward the bowl of soup on the table nearby. She reached to grab Grissom's arm to ease him more upright against the bed frame while Grissom scooted his legs up inches by inches but the movement reignited the throbbing pain in his legs and he moaned aloud in agony. "I've cleaned and taped the wound on your thigh. I've done what I could…"

When he spoke, Grissom's words were slurred and barely audible. "I need medical attention," he pointed out without a hint of sarcasm, looking up toward the woman.

She shook her head emphatically. "That's not possible. Stephen wouldn't allow me to even come up here to check on you. God knows what he'd do if he knew I came up anyway."

Grissom gave a slight nod of his head in understanding, on the face of it resigned to his fate. It was the dread in his eyes that was haunting, as though he knew that this small reprieve in his ordeal would not last and something far worse was in store for him. Peering through his bleary eyes, he squinted into the darkness at the woman's face, which was only lit by a small ray of artificial light coming in from the corridor through the door that had been left ajar. He frowned, thinking he knew her from somewhere, yet her voice didn't seem to ring any bells.

"How long have I been here?" he asked.

"Not long. A few days," she replied as she picked up the bowl of soup and spoon.

"What time is it?"

"Does it matter?" she asked before adding, "late in the night."

"Where's Alison?" he inquired. "Is she all right? What are you doing to her? She's got nothing to do with all this."

"She's fine, just out of the way. Don't worry about her; she's not your concern. She's only a means to an end." After sitting down on the edge of the bed she began feeding Grissom a little liquid, putting an end to Grissom's questioning. His head was slumping to the side as he lifted his eyes with some difficulty trying to see her face more clearly, causing most of the soup to run down his chin onto his chest.

"Come on, you've got to help me out here. Make an effort. You need to eat something," the woman chastised him, flicking him a look of annoyance.

Grissom blinked a few times as he clumsily slurped down a few more sips. The lukewarm soup had started to appease the soreness of his throat. When he next looked at her face, he caught her staring at the picture of Sara and Noah propped on the table. Her expression reflected a mixture of emotions: sadness and contrition but also wistful longing.

"I know you from somewhere," he groaned hesitantly interrupting her daydream. "I remember you. I can't seem to recall exactly where from though but I-"

She brought the spoon to his mouth again cutting short his rambling. "We've never met before or I'd remember," she replied with a small smile after a while. "It's not me you recognise."

Grissom peered at her more intently as he tried to put some order in the chaos in his mind.

"It's Chloe you see, not me."

"Chloe?" he whispered uncertainly. Then, it dawned on him who she meant and he slowly nodded his head to show he remembered.

"She's – was my twin. I'm Valerie."

"Was?"

"She died six months ago – in jail. She couldn't stand it any more, being locked up, like that, like an animal in a cage. She…she…" Valerie seemed to waver for an instant but she regained her composure almost immediately and her gaze hardened. "She slit her wrists with a…what is it Stephen called it? A shank. That's right," she said more to herself than to Grissom, nodding. "She slit her wrists with a shank." Her gaze veered off into the distance as she continued, "She only had two more years to serve until she was due for parole. Steven was waiting for her. He was crushed. So was I. She was our world."

"Revenge?"

"Huh?" she mumbled returning her attention to the bowl in her hand.

"This," he said, weakly lifting his arm to gesture to the rest of the room. "Is this your revenge for what happened to her? I don't understand. What's it got to do with me? With Alison? With Heather?"

"Don't think of it as revenge, more as…getting even. We're restoring the balance. She killed herself, we kill her. Then, we're even. What else is capital punishment about? Getting even is just what it sounds like. Tit for tat."

"But Heather didn't kill Chloe. She didn't put her in jail." _If anything, I'm more to blame than her_, he thought but kept quiet. "She did that all by herself. Whatever line he fed you isn't the truth. Heather had nothing to do with Chloe's demise."

Valerie waved the issue aside.

"What about Alison? How does she fit into all of this? She's just a child. An innocent child. I heard her before begging, pleading for you to stop. What are you doing to her? Why are you hurting her?"

Valerie's face closed off and she didn't answer. Instead, she resumed feeding him silently. When he had had his fill, feeling light-headed from sitting up and sick from too much food at once he pushed the spoon aside trying to keep what little he had ingested down. He closed his eyes and rested his head back, weakening. Valerie set the bowl down on the table and picked up the wet towel she had used as a cold compress. She began to wash away the dried blackened blood from his face and that was matted to his hair and two-day-old beard and Grissom recoiled with pain at the touch.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?"

Valerie didn't reply for a long time. She motioned for him to lie back down and she helped him do so. "You weren't part of the plan. I don't know who you are. I…I don't know why-"

"You can't trust him. He's sick. He's using you," Grissom interrupted. "Help us. Tell him he can do whatever he wants with me. Tell him I'll comply with whatever _experiments_ he has in store but please save Alison. She's not Heather."

She shrugged her reply, not caring. "I'd better go."

"I need to pee." Somewhat ashamed and humiliated by his admission, Grissom dipped his head toward his chest.

Valerie snapped her head up. "Nuh, nuh. No can do."

"Come on. I'm in no state to try a quick get-away-"

"No. Beside you're in no shape to get out of this bed, let alone stand."

"True. But you could help me," he murmured, his voice soft as he tried to inject a little charm to it.

Unmoved, she shook her head. "I can't. I'm sorry. It's more than my life's worth."

She seemed to think about it though and out of the blue, she left the room, forgetting to put the restraints on Grissom. Thinking he couldn't kick a gift horse in the mouth and with nothing to lose, he edged nearer the side of the bed and grunting in pain, swung his legs out as he tried to pull himself up into a sitting position, which he succeeded to do but at a price. Almost straightaway he felt dizzy and was unable to keep his head from spinning madly and he was left clenching his eyes in a failed attempt at dissipating the light-headedness, searing headache and nausea.

"Where do you think you're going?" Valerie asked loudly as she came back in the room, carrying an empty plastic water bottle.

Grissom flinched, downcast and defeated. There was no way he could move to go anywhere and he felt frustrated – disappointed even – with himself for his weakness.

"There. Use that. That's the best I can do."

Confused, Grissom looked up with a frown and noticed her holding out the bottle to him. His frown deepened in surprise.

"Do you need a hand with that or do you think you can manage?" she asked Grissom with a weary sigh.

Embarrassed, Grissom lowered his gaze and reached out a trembling hand for the bottle. "Can you…just give me a minute?"

Valerie nodded and walked out of the room. When she came back, she took the bottle from him and helped him back down, tying him up with the manacles exactly in the same manner Stephen had. When she was done, she picked up the bowl, the bottle and the wet towel, leaving no trace of her visit.

Grissom couldn't just let her go like that. She had shown him some compassion and no malice and maybe if he played his card right, in time, he could convince her to help him. He had one more card to play, one last shot before she left. She might not be able to come back up.

"I don't understand," he mumbled to her retreating form. "Why are you here? You seem decent. Why are you helping him? _You_ can leave; it's not too late for you."

She wordlessly turned round one last time and pursed her lips in a contrite smile before stepping out and locking the room again, leaving Grissom once more helpless.

"Help us," he pleaded in a whisper. "Please call for help."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: I'd appreciate your thoughts on the Heather/Sara conversation. Two strong women who are having a rough time (not as rough as Grissom though, he had to pee in a bottle for Christ's sake) and have only met once before (to my knowledge) so I was in unchartered waters. Yet again, no hair pulling or eye gouging, this fic is very tame! Anyway, there's more to come between these two so I'd like some feedback. Were they not antagonistic enough? I don't know whether they would be if faced with this situation but I'd like your thoughts on that.

On a different note, a big thank you to you all for reading and reviewing this and the previous chapters and I'll update again and catch up when I'm back home! (12 days to go, not that I'm counting!) Hope you're all well. Take care, Sylvie.


	31. Chapter 31

"Sara, wait up!" Nick called as he beeped his truck locked before jogging to meet Sara who had been about to step into the CSI building and was now holding the main door open, smiling to him as she waited.

"Where's Noah?" he then asked with a frown as he placed his hand in the small of her back, indicating for her to enter first.

Pulling what could only be called an awkward face, Sara hesitated answering him, debating with herself whether she should tell him the truth. "I…I…He was asleep so…I left him at Heather's." There, she'd said it.

If Nick thought anything peculiar about Sara's decision, he kept it to himself.

Taken aback, Sara turned round to look at her friend, a puzzled frown on her face. "What? No wise cracks? No third degree?"

Nick smiled warmly in response. "No." He shrugged his shoulders mildly. "I trust you. I'm sure you know what you're doing."

"Good," Sara replied as the two friends strode past reception. She thought briefly about explaining herself to Nick but didn't judge it necessary. Instead she asked, "How did you get on with Hodges?"

"Let me see," he whispered gravely. "How do I surmise four hours of cross-referencing maps of the south-western tip of Lake Mead with geological surveys with Hodges into a concise answer?" He pretended to think about it for a second before glumly shaking his head in the negative.

Sara was silently squeezing Nick's arm partly to thank him for his effort and partly to offer him some comfort for his lack of a new lead when Judy interrupted them.

"Mrs Grissom?" the receptionist called, leaning over her counter to peer down the corridor toward Nick and Sara. Sara turned her head to look over her shoulder toward the smiling receptionist who then continued, "I didn't think you were back here yet."

"I'm not," Sara replied, briefly slowing down but making no move to stop. "I just came to fetch a bag I left behind."

"Someone left this for you," Judy said, waving an envelope in the air.

Sara stopped dead in her tracks and turned fully round. "For me?" she asked with a quizzical arch of her brow before walking back to Judy's desk and taking the proffered envelope. She mumbled a distracted "Thanks" while she carefully tore the envelope open as she made her way back toward a waiting Nick. Her forehead was creased by a deep brow as she removed the single item. She peered closer inside the envelope checking for a note – there wasn't one – before tuning the picture over.

Her heart skipped a beat as though it was about to stop and whatever little colour she had drained from her face as she teetered unsteadily on her feet. She gulped in shock and horror. Belatedly, she brought the hand not holding the envelope to her mouth and began to shake. Yet, surprisingly, her eyes remained dry, unblinkingly staring for so long at Grissom's upper body that her gaze glazed over and his image became a pixilated blur.

"Sara? What is it? Are you all right?" Nick asked quietly as he slipped his hand under her arm to support her weight.

She didn't seem to hear Nick and unconsciously she began to stroke Grissom's seemingly lifeless bruised and battered face, appearing to be peering beyond that, intent on concentrating her piercing gaze on the two blue eyes staring back at her. But trying as she might to feel, see a connection, a sign of life through them she couldn't glimpse at anything behind the blueness of his gaze, however hard she tried to peer into the depth of his soul.

"Sara?"

Dazed, Sara turned her now tearful gaze toward Nick, big horrified eyes blurred behind a wall of unshed tears. "He's dead." The look she cast him was so pained, so full of sorrow and so heart-breaking in its intensity that Nick's eyes suddenly filled. She moved the picture into his eye line and he remained gob-smacked at the sight of his mentor, his friend's apparently lifeless body.

"Oh, no. Gil, no. Why?" Sara started mumbling to herself. "I was so sure you were still alive." The Polaroid dropped from her limp hand onto the floor. "I…was so sure he was bluffing, messing with me. How could I have got it so wrong? H…ow am I supposed to continue without you?"

Releasing his hold of Sara, Nick pulled his handkerchief out of his jeans pocket and bent down to pick the photograph up with it. He could only stare at it, speechless. After a while carefully studying it, he tore his watery eyes away and asked hoarsely, "Is there a note with it?"

Like a deer caught in headlights, Sara's head snapped up from her catatonic state and she faintly shook her head no.

"I was so sure he wasn't dead," Sara murmured to Nick. "So sure he was messing with me." Belatedly, her tears started to fall. "Oh dear God, what am I going to do?"

"Don't think that, Sara. Not yet. We don't have any evidence. _This_ is not evidence. We don't know that…he's…not yet. _This_…is nothing." Nick stopped talking and swallowed noisily, finding it hard to voice his thoughts coherently. Yet, he noticed that people in the labs had begun to stare and realising he needed to be the one to step up, he said, "Let's take this to Archie and get it processed before we assume the worst. It might be a fake, a composite-"

"It's a Polaroid, Nick," Sara exclaimed angrily, almost shouting. "How fake can it be?"

Undeterred, Nick took the envelope out of Sara's hand and studied it. "It was hand delivered," he said.

On hearing this, Sara's focus seemed to return as a thought came to her. Frowning, she turned round and quickly began retracing her steps back toward the reception area, Nick following hot on her heels. She zoomed in for the CCTV camera in the corner at the back of the room, pointing a trembling hand at it. "When was this delivered?" she asked Judy brusquely, motioning to the envelope Nick was still holding with the handkerchief. "Did he say anything?" she then asked not waiting for an answer to the first question, her voice steadily rising. "What did he look like?" Judy's face dropped and lost all composure under Sara's verbal battering and Judy looked pleadingly at Nick for help. "WHO BROUGHT THIS IN?" Sara berated loudly, her voice shaking.

"Sara, please let me do this," Nick said kindly and Sara banged her fists on the reception counter unable to contain her frustration and fury. She turned away, shaking. "Judy, what can you tell us about who delivered this?" Nick asked quietly.

Staring at Sara with a mixture of shock and sympathy, Judy took a moment to gather her thoughts before answering and slowly recounted every single word of the conversation she had had with the man.

"Was he wearing gloves?" Nick asked when she had finished her account.

Judy frowned in concentration. "I don't believe he was."

"What did he look like?" Sara inquired, calmer now although she was still staring off in the distance unable to meet Judy's gaze.

Judy went on to describe the man matching word for word the original witnesses' description of Alison's kidnapper. Then she said, addressing Sara, "I'm so sorry. I never thought to contact you earlier. I-"

But Sara wasn't paying attention to Judy's apology. As quickly as it had appeared her anger had dissipated and had been replaced by incredulity as she stood completely still next to Nick. Detached and unfocused, she was staring straight ahead past Judy, her gaze fixed on the wall as visions and thoughts of a dead Grissom swirled in her mind. A new wave of tears was threatening to fall as she couldn't take her mind off one question: When was the last time she had told him she loved him?

"It's okay, Judy. It's not your fault. You weren't to know," Nick said, cutting off Judy's apology short. Then he turned to Sara. "Let's take this to Print and then go to Archie's lab to watch the CCTV recording and see if we have a front shot of the guy." Nick took her by the shoulders as he led her away. "You've got to be strong, Sara," he then whispered. "You've got to be strong for Noah. That's what Grissom would want."

Sara nodded meekly as if in a trance as Judy watched on a sad pained look on her face wondering what the package had contained that had got Sara in such a state.

As soon as Archie pressed the key to print the grainy picture from the security tape the three of them had been peering at on the large wall-mounted computer screen – an indistinct back shot of a tall man wearing a ball cap that couldn't easily be identified from the angle they had – Sara snatched the printout from the printer and put it in her purse. "I've got to go back to Noah," she said shortly, rushing out of the A/V lab.

"Okay," Nick replied. "Sara?" he then called over his shoulder.

Sara snapped her head round, tears she had been able to contain for the last half an hour or so finally flowing from her eyes. Finding no words to reassure her, Nick simply shrugged a shoulder as he pursed his lips into a sad smile. She nodded briefly understanding the silent message and left without another glance. She made her way to Mandy's lab who wordlessly handed out the Polaroid and envelope that she had fumedfor latent prints and that were now sealed into two clear evidence bags.

Sara looked at the items without much hope. However her brows quickly rose in amazement and she wiped her cheeks dry. Among the smudges, partials and clear fingerprints Sara made out, there was a particular one on the front of the envelope that had been isolated by the Print Tech. "A thumb print?" she gasped, turning her head to Mandy.

The print teck nodded. "And the edge of an index finger at the back. And before you ask, they're not yours or Judy's. Both your prints were easy enough to eliminate." Mandy smiled but Sara missed the gesture, her attention caught by the flicking mug shots on the computer screen. "I've got it running through AFIS but it'll be a while," Mandy explained.

Sara glanced up at Mandy, intending to thank her for such prompt work but the words got caught in her throat and she could only offer her a wan smile instead.

"He's getting careless," Mandy intoned as she tried to break the awkward silence.

Sara made a dubious face. "Or he doesn't care if he gets caught," she said with a shaky voice. Mandy frowned in confusion, so Sara elucidated with a despondent shrug, "Because it's too late. We're too late." She turned abruptly away to hide her distress and mumbled as she was leaving, "Tell Nick if you get a match. He knows where to find me."

Sara couldn't get out of the crime lab fast enough. Knowing Grissom's abductor had been to the crime lab looking for her only fuelled her rage. She thought she was close to madness, to total breakdown. How was she ever going to cope and face her now uncertain future without her husband? Working hard to control the urge to run – both literally and figuratively – she rushed out, not realising she was still clutching the evidence bag containing the Polaroid of Grissom. She made her way to the car lot and to Brass's car where she collapsed behind the wheel heaving great sobs of sorrow before starting repeatedly punching her fists into the wheel in fury and then stopping abruptly lest she might inadvertently set off the airbag. She stayed there wailing until she was spent and when she had no more to give, having cried herself dry, she lifted the picture of Grissom from her lap to stare at it some more as she shakily traced the outline of his face with her finger.

"This can't be it. Not after all we've been through to get there. Talk to me Gil," she whispered miserably to his eyes. "Please, don't leave me. I can't do this without you. Just…a sign. That's all I need."

She closed her eyes wearily and sighed. How long she remained there completely still, eyes shut, waiting, she wasn't sure but eventually she resigned herself to the truth and angrily rammed the key into the ignition. She was about to fire Brass's brand-new Dodge, headed back to Heather's, when suddenly a flickering vision flashed in front of her – Grissom's blue eyes staring back at her straight into her soul, the connection she had been waiting for – soon followed by a crazy thought. She frowned as she pondered the possibility, yet not daring to think it possible.

"No," she thought, shaking her head, vainly trying todispel the crazed image but Grissom's soft timbre chimed in. "Come on, Sara," he was telling her. "Follow your heart."

* * *

The key turned into the lock very quietly. "Hello, Doctor Grissom, You'll be pleased to know I'm back. I've finished with my few errands and everything is going according to plan. Your Sara should now have the proof she wanted. It was unfortunate I couldn't deliver the photograph in person."

While he was talking, the man was carefully checking the S&M equipment in the room, diligently making sure everything was where it was supposed to be. He paused with his monologue long enough to pull on the manacles suspended from the ceiling checking they were strong enough to support his weight before resuming.

"I was looking forward to seeing her in the flesh and I'm glad I decided to swing by the Dominion on my way back. It was a very nice surprise to catch a glimpse of her and your young son too when they visited. She is very attractive. The photo doesn't do her justice and I'm relishing the thought of finally meeting her," he added as he made his way to the bed. "Okay, enough chit-chat. All is set to welcome my next guest but it's a little dark in here for what I need to do now."

He moved away and flicked down a wall-mounted switch, casting a bright artificial light from the bare bulb hanging above the bed. Smiling, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation before frowning in surprise. Blue veins immediately began to form on his forehead and it only took an instant for his good mood to turn to rage.

"Valerie? VALERIE!?! VA-LE-RIE!?!"

Grissom awoke with a start at the chilling sound of his captor's enraged screams but kept his eyes shut and tried to remain as still as he could when he realised his captor was in the room with him, standing mere inches from the bed.

"VALERIE? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU HIDING NOW? I EXPLICITLY FORBADE YOU FROM COMING IN HERE."

When he heard footsteps moving away from the bed and the voice became more distant as the man left the room and stomped down the stairs, seemingly searching for the cause of his fury, Grissom turned his head toward the door and open his eyes a crack as he tried to ascertain the situation. But under the onslaught of the harsh light he was reduced to closing his eyes again just to evade the searing headache that was being reignited. He turned his head the other way and peered through his eyelids at the photographs on the table. They were still there and he drew some strength and comfort from them for sadly he had an unexplainable foreboding that this was it for him and it might be the last he would see from them. He sensed a different energy in the house as though something dreadful was about to happen and at that moment he felt certain that his hours were numbered.

Hearing Valerie's whimpering getting louder and closer, Grissom quickly tried to assume his prior sleeping position and slow down his breathing. From what little dialogue he could make out Grissom guessed that Valerie was being dragged by the hair up the stairs and into the room. She was now weeping loudly and her anguished cries filled the room.

"There's no point denying it. Your scent is all over the bed, all over him. And _this_!" his kidnapper said coldly pointing toward the bed. Seething, he pulled her away by the hair before moving to Grissom's right to grab an aluminium baseball bat with his free hand.

Grissom remained immobile, feigning unconsciousness while listening intently to where the voices were coming from. All of a sudden, he heard the mighty crack of breaking bones where the crashing bat made contact. And it was only after he heard the sound of a voice scream in agony, the terrifying sound of his own hoarse voice that he finally felt the throbbing pain radiate throughout his already battered body as though he had been doused with gasoline and set on fire.

"Did _THIS_ magic itself up?" his tormentor shouted at a hysterical Valerie, motioning towards the bandage on Grissom's thigh with the bat. Rage burning at his core, he lifted his weapon over his shoulder as if to strike again but dropped it at the last minute and back-handed Valerie across the face with such force that she fell to the floor, cowering and sniffling for fear worse was to come if she dared make more noise. He was left holding a clump of her hair, which he looked at with disgust before tossing it over Grissom and bending down to pick up the bat.

"Please, Stephen, don't do this," Valerie pleaded in a low murmur, clutching at her bleeding scalp. "You're going to kill him. This is not what we planned. Why are you turning on me? You said we'd be a family. You said you took care of everything, that we'd go away with Alison. I've done everything you asked. Why-"

The man let out a chilling laugh as he watched Grissom gasp for air. "Everything I asked?" he repeated incredulously, mechanically stroking the bat. "Everything I asked? Oh poor woman, how deluded must you be-"

"Please, Stephen…"

"Shut up, you weak spineless bitch," he snarled turning his evil stare on Valerie. "_Please Stephen_," he mimicked spitefully with a disbelieving shake of his head. "This is all _your_ fault," he accused, pointing his bat at her. "_You_ made me do that. _You_ turned against _me_. You never live up to my expectations. You never succeed in fulfilling me. You never measured up," he stopped talking and threw the bat at her with so much force that Valerie only had time to raise her arms up to shield her face.

As quickly as it had flared, Stephen's fury vanished with that last act of violence. He turned away, looking almost repentant. "I thought…," he began but instead he shook his head. "You're nothing like her. You're nothing like Chloe. She understood me. Tomorrow, my plan will come to fruition," he whispered with an evil smirk. "Come on," he ordered Valerie. "Get up and untie him. GET UP! I said. We've got to move him."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: I'm back, so we can return to a more regular posting schedule! Thanks for sticking with me.


	32. Chapter 32

"Sara!" she heard Robbins exclaim even before she saw the doctor as she pushed the doors to the autopsy room open. The ME was half-sitting, half-standing in the corner of the room where his microscope was set up. His glasses resting on the tip of his nose he smiled warmly at the sight of her and he slid them off around his neck before grabbing his crutch to make his way over. If he was surprised by Sara's presence there or noticed her haggard face, red and puffy from crying, he made no sign or mention of it as he welcomed her opening his arms, his crutch resting in the crook of his elbow.

She stayed in his arms longer than was strictly necessary and Robbins tightened his hold of her, thinking her distress was borne out of Grissom's kidnapping. After a few minutes in this position, Sara was the first to move and pull away from the embrace. She awkwardly wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands, smiling her thanks.

The ME smiled back and mouthed to her, "You're welcome. Anytime," as he took her hand in his. In response, Sara gave him a wobbly smile and nodded her head. She swallowed hard and after a while in silence looking at each other, the doctor tried to lift Sara's visibly low spirits as he whispered a little cautiously, "And how's Noah? I was just telling Gil how much joy children bring to us parents." He shook his head, distractedly. "He never got round to…" Sara squeezed his hand in silent bidding for him to continue when she noticed his voice quavering. The coroner smiled uneasily. "He never got round to showing him to us. He mentioned he had some pictures…"

Understanding the older man was trying to reach out to her, Sara gave a quick nod of her head. "He's…growing up quickly."

"You know, he was on his way to ours when he got-"

"I know," she cut in gently, smiling tightly. "I know."

Robbins shuffled his feet round a little as he tried to compose himself while Sara's face hardened and her gaze shifted as she remembered the reason behind her impromptu visit to the morgue. She had hesitated a long while, pondering, scrutinising the photo, thinking her idea farfetched but in the end she had to know and who would be the best person to endorse – or dismiss – her theory and set her straight than the trusted coroner?

With nothing to lose and everything to gain, Sara opened her purse and took out the evidence bag with the Polaroid in. She glanced at it briefly before wordlessly handing it out to the doctor, not daring to meet the older man's eye.

Robbins frowned as he took the bag but Sara kept a hold of it, unwilling to let go. "What is this?" he asked.

Sara's eyes misted over. "I'm sorry," she apologised as she dabbed at them. "It was delivered to me at the lab earlier today." She gulped. "Take a look at it and tell me what you see and then I'll tell you what I see – or rather want to see. I need… you to…I need your expert opinion on this and you need to promise me that you'll be entirely candid and honest with me. I have to know whether this is what it looks like."

With growing alarm, Robbins asked again. "What is it, Sara?"

Sara held on to the evidence bag a little longer but the coroner smiled encouragingly at her, tugging at it gently. She reluctantly relented and turned her back on the doctor who, after slipping his glasses back on, turned the photograph over and, after the inevitable original gasp of shock at the sight before him, could only stare at it speechless.

Sara turned round after a minute or so, saying, "I'm sorry I didn't give you any warning of…what was on the photo but I wanted to know your first impression, whether you thought he was…dead," the word died on Sara's lips, "and I guess your silence says it all," she finished lamely. "I was hoping-"

"Don't put words in my mouth, Sara," Doc Robbins said a little more curtly than he intended – if not quite angrily – as he looked up, "I just wished you hadn't sprung this on me like that, that's all. I don't understand what you want me to say. I'm assuming that you've established it's not a fake. Do you want me to comment on the extent of his injuries, is that it?" he asked loudly. His voice had lost its usual calm and was echoing dourly round the empty room. "Because I can't tell you anything else from this picture."

The ME's reproachful piercing blue eyes cut through Sara like a knife but although she flinched a little at the vehemence of his words Sara bravely held his gaze willing him to go on – which he did momentarily. She knew Robbins's anger wasn't really directed at her, even if she was on the receiving end of it.

His voice steadily rising he continued, "His pupils are fixed and dilated. Of course he _looks_…dead but you knew that already. You've seen and _taken_ enough pictures of dead bodies yourself to have drawn your own conclusions." He turned his gaze away, disgusted. "He suffered a broken jaw and a broken cheekbone, multiple abrasions and contusions on the rest of his face and judging by the severity of the bruising on his torso, he's got a few broken ribs on his right side. As for the rest, your guess is as good as mine but isn't the word going round that he was also shot?" he asked harshly before stopping for breath. "Now, is that what you wanted to hear?" He paused to let his words sink and was going to add some more but the desperation emanating from Sara stopped him. Feeling guilty for his remonstrance, he reached for his chair, collapsed on it before taking a few deep calming breaths.

Sara moved toward him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, which she squeezed warmly, whispering "I'm sorry, Al. I didn't know who else to ask. I…I shouldn't have put you in that position."

"No, you shouldn't have," he murmured back, the brunt of his anger clearly gone. "I didn't mean to get carried away like that. I wasn't ready for this, that's all. It's always different when it's someone you…care about. The son of a bitch that's done this is sick. That's _what_ I can tell you from this," he spat disgustedly as he threw the evidence bag onto the workstation. He removed his glasses and rubbed his face with both hands.

Sara was about to say something more, to argue her case but hung her face, remaining silent as she berated herself for going about this totally the wrong way.

After a moment to himself, feeling calmer, Robbins looked up. "What are you thinking Sara?" he asked. "You came to me. You said you needed my expert opinion and so far I haven't told you anything you didn't already know yourself."

She met his gaze, her expression suddenly painfully hopeful. She sighed. "It's silly. I'm being silly. But I can't…not yet…I'm not ready. I…I was…I was kind of hoping that you could tell me that maybe he wasn't dead. That he simply was in a coma and that a drug had done this, that he had been drugged into that state." She shrugged helplessly. "There, I've said it. I mean…I know it's farfetched and crazy and I know I'm fishing and clinging to nothing but I just can't accept that this…this," she cried pointing at the picture, "that this is all I have left of him. Not until we find him."

Robbins put his glasses back on, lowered his gaze to the picture and picked it up to take another look at it, this time studying it from a different angle, looking beyond the identity of the corpse. He shrugged, shaking his head in ambivalence as he gave careful thoughts to Sara's suggestion. "What kind of drug were you thinking of? Some kind of potent muscle relaxant?" he asked, looking up.

Sara lifted a shoulder in reply. She was trying her utmost to remain detached and keep to a scientific approach to this. That seemed the only way she was able to keep it together as she considered what kind of atrocities Grissom had been subjected to.

"I guess it's _possible_ but there's no way to be sure," Robbins admitted after careful deliberation.

"_Possible_ is good enough for me, doc," Sara murmured with a small smile. "That's all I need. If he had…been given something, would it have a lasting effect?"

"It depends on the drug and how much of it he'd have been administered. Drugs like suxamethonium chloride or pancuronium are reversible and are commonly used as muscle relaxants during intubations or anaesthesia-"

Sara frowned. "Pancuronium? Isn't that the drug administered to convicts during lethal injection here in Nevada?"

Robbins nodded. "I'm afraid so but we haven't had one of those for many years. And it's also the case for every other state with death through lethal injection. But it's also one of the drugs of choice for euthanasia. They use it in Europe, in Holland in particular with this aim. The terminally-ill patient is first injected with sodium thiopental to induce coma, pancuronium is then delivered in order to relax the muscles and stop the breathing and finally potassium chloride stops the heart."

Sara closed her eyes as she pondered the consequences of the coroner's words. "So, to get access to these drugs, you'd have to be a health professional of some sort-"

"Well, yes and no. Not every health professional would have access. These are heavily regulated drugs; surgeons, anaesthetists, ER doctors and nurses would typically do but the SOP for signing these kinds of drugs in and out is tight and closely supervised. You must remember the serial killer Efren Saldivar." Sara was nodding her head so the ME continued, "Regulations have been tightened since he was found guilty in 2002. Don't forget pharmaceutical employees too, they'd have access, although you'd need to know what you were doing and what dosage to use for the drugs to be potent." The coroner paused and took another close look at the picture before giving a disbelieving slow shake of his head.

Sara watched him debate with himself for a few moments and when she couldn't stand the silence anymore, she probed, "What is it, Al?"

Robbins looked up, unable to conceal his sad pained expression. "I'm not sure."

"What do you mean? What aren't you sure of? I don't understand."

"If Gil had been injected with any of these drugs, _all_ his muscles would have relaxed…including the muscles in his eyelids. His eyes'd be shut and-"

"So what you're telling me is that for me to be right and for Gil to still be alive someone had to purposefully open his eyes before they took the picture?" Sara's voice was trembling and so quiet that Robbins had to read her lips to make out what she was saying.

"I'm afraid so," he gasped. "I'm so sorry, Sara. I wished I-"

Sara held out her hand stopping him mid-sentence and tried to speak but her throat closed and her voice cracked and she could only nod grimly as she understood what the coroner was in effect telling her; that he thought Grissom was dead.

Tears falling freely from her eyes, she turned and walked out of the morgue so choked with her grief she couldn't utter another word or face Doc Robbins's pitiful stare. She didn't hear his desperate pleas for her to come back.

The evidence bag still in hand, the coroner sighed as he quickly wiped the tear that had formed in the corner of his eye before reaching over for his phone to call the crime lab's number.

* * *

"Catherine, that was quick. Are you trying to beat a record?" Met with the night-shift supervisor's deathly glare, Brass changed tack. "We got another one. One Duane Caruso, twenty-three. I have a feeling we're going to be here a while."

Catherine nodded as she emerged out of the Denali, Greg in tow. She had left Nick back at HQ and Riley and Ray had been out most of the night on an arson case in Pahrump.

Brass noticed Catherine's paleness and lack of enthusiasm for a job she loved and he sighed, knowing exactly how she felt. But what did they have if they didn't have their work? So they went on with their business as professionally as they could despite the night's heavy caseloads and the shock of Nick's unexpected news and evidence of Grissom's presumed death.

"Any news on the prints Mandy ran through AFIS?" he asked forthrightly when he understood that Catherine wasn't willingly going to put his mind at rest.

Catherine reached for hers and Greg's field kits from the back of the truck. She set Greg's down on the ground. "Nothing. Nada. Zilch. No luck," she replied with irritation as she took her anger out on the trunk, slamming it shut with such force that it startled Officer Mitchell who swiftly spun round, hand on hip ready to take his gun out if necessary. "The perp's not in the system," Catherine continued, unaware. "He's running rings round us Jim and I don't like it. First, the phone call. Now he's got the gall to come to us and deliver a note in person. He leaves us a clue – on purpose – and he knows we still won't be able to catch him. That son of a bitch is really starting to piss me off. I still can't believe that…"

Brass nodded, cutting her off as they made their way toward the male dead body in yet another non-descript dark alley. "Let's wait for some hard evidence before we start choosing the veneer for his coffin. Have you heard from Sara? I've tried everywhere I can think of…"

Catherine looked at her watch, it showed 2.15 am, and turned a pained and concerned expression toward Brass. "I thought by now she'd be back at yours."

Brass shook his head. "I've tried calling but I was only getting the machine. I eventually got five minutes to go and check for myself and she's not at the house. By the looks of it, she's not been back since I left at six last night. I even called their house in Sunnydale in case she'd decided to…you know…bail but no answer there either."

"She wouldn't do that," Greg muttered.

"Well, where the hell is she then?" Brass countered brusquely. He seemed to catch himself and said, "I ran out of places to look. She left Doc hours ago. I hope she's not gone and done something stupid, that's all. I've tried her cell-"

"It's still in evidence," Catherine said.

"Well, she's not answering the car phone, either. I just hope, in her state of mind, she isn't gone on some wild goose chase looking for Grissom's executor."

"How? Nick and Hodges's search didn't turn up anything; the area we're looking at extends the whole of the south-western shores of the Lake. I can't think where she could be looking for him. Unless she's knocking on all the doors around Lake Mead."

"Assuming that's where he's kept," Brass said, ever the optimist.

Greg who was keeping unnaturally quiet piped in. "She did say she was going to go and see Heather at some point yesterday. Maybe she succeeded where you failed," he said, giving Brass a long meaningful glance. "You couldn't get Heather to open up; Grissom didn't have time to try. Maybe with Sara's push, she yielded."

Catherine nodded. "Nick mentioned that but if Heather'd come up with a name Sara'd have told us."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Brass sighed, shaking his head dubiously. They reached the outer perimeter of crime scene and Brass lifted the tape and held it up for Catherine and Greg to pass. "Jeez. That's all we goddamn need. The two of them on a wild goose chase." He looked around uneasily to see whether any of his uniformed officers had heard him before lowering his voice. "I just hope she knows what she's doing and isn't taking unnecessary risks. She's got enough on her plate without anymore drama. And so have I!"

"She wouldn't. She's got Noah to think of. We've got to trust her," Greg said moving to the side to make space for the assistant coroner who was already at the scene. He acknowledged David's silent query about whether they had heard anything by a slow shake of the head.

Brass pulled a facial shrug in response. "I don't like it. I got a feeling something's wrong. I can feel it in my bones. Why not tell us what she's up to or leave a message with one of us? She's got to know we're looking for her."

Catherine sighed. "She's not thinking straight, Jim. She thinks Grissom's dead."

"Damn right she's not thinking straight! None of us are but we're not out on some…" Brass paused ready to punch something, anything, just to vent his frustration. He gave a deep low grunt, exclaiming, "She's a pain in my butt!"

Catherine turned his head toward Brass. "For crying out loud Jim, are you hearing yourself talk? This isn't about you!" Catherine caught herself and looked down at the body. "Just give her some slack, will you?"

"I just hope she's not done anything stupid, that's all," Brass added grimly, struggling to hide how much this was affecting him.

"Give her a little credit," Greg said quietly. "She's far from being reckless."

"Is she?" Brass muttered surly. He paused to let his words sink. "Well, I'm not holding my breath. And I wasn't talking of her being 'reckless' either. We all know she doesn't do well under that kind of pressure. I can't think what this is doing to her emotionally." He let out a long sigh. "Anyway, let's not think the worst. As soon as I get the chance, I'll call Heather and check whether she knows something."

* * *

Tbc.

* * *

A/N: Efren Saldivar really exists and he sounds like a mean serial killer. Between 1988 and 1998 he killed allegedly more than a hundred patients by injecting a paralytic drug which led to respiratory and/or cardiac arrest. Pancuronium definitely was used in six murders. He was careful in the selection of his victims, choosing those who were unconscious and close to death. This led to no easily detectable rise in the rate or distribution of patient deaths when he was on duty. Clever. After 20 exhumations, six cadavers had evidence of a lethal concentration of Pancuronium. In 2002 Saldivar pleaded guilty to those six counts of murder and received six consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole.

Just thought you might like to know! These people really do exists and not just in our stories!

Please, leave a review, they might help me decide Grissom's fate!


	33. Chapter 33

It was late in the night when Sara eventually made her way back to Heather's after spending many hours aimlessly driving round Vegas ignoring the ringing of Brass's car phone that was coming at regular interval. The first time it rang she worried it was Heather calling about Noah. But she had recognised Brass's cell number straightaway and hadn't picked up. At that particular moment in time, he was the last person she wished to speak to. She could already hear the reproach and disappointment in his voice if he knew how badly she was coping and how close she was to losing it and once more bailing out, Robbins's news destroying what little hope she still harboured of Grissom being alive. She shook her head in disbelief for the umpteenth time; she had been so sure.

She hadn't been able to think of a single place within the city limits where she could find solace and respite and which didn't bring back painful memories. She had driven around, tears in her eyes, and had eventually wound up parking up the Dodge in front of their old townhouse before walking the short distance to their old local park. She had wandered down the dimly-lit alleys where, many moons ago, they used to go to walk Hank. _Hank, _she sighed. In the last day, she had completely forgotten about him.

After leaving the morgue, she had taken some time to recompose herself before calling Heather to check on Noah. Secure in the knowledge that her son was safe and sound asleep, she had informed Heather that she still had a few errands to run and would she mind keeping an eye on the little boy for a little longer? She thought after all the years of practice she was a master at 'faking it' and that she had done a good job of sounding casual on the phone but she knew she hadn't fooled Heather when the latter murmured a cautious "Take all the time you need, Sara. Noah's fine." It took one good actress to know another one.

That had been almost five hours ago.

If she wasn't feeling so down and dispirited she would be ashamed of her behaviour, of leaving Noah with a woman she had in reality only just met but she was finding it so hard to keep it together, to stay strong that at that moment in time she felt it was better for him. And strangely enough she trusted Heather. Maybe in the same way Grissom trusted Heather or maybe _because_ he trusted her, she didn't know.

And however much she loved her son – and love him, she did, above everything else – if she was going to be able to face the next day she needed some time on her own. Some time to think. Some time to refocus. Some time to work out a way to go on.

"Follow the evidence," Grissom would say, "it never lies". At first, she had taken the picture at its face value, for what it was and had believed Grissom was indeed dead. And then she had had doubts. And despite Robbins's unspoken words, her doubts were still niggling at her even now.

_I was wrong last time when appearances led me to think you were dead. _

"_Follow your heart,"_ Grissom's voice chimed in once again. "_What is it telling you?"_

_My heart is bursting with the love I feel for you and for Noah, our flesh. My heart is telling me that yours is still beating and that you're still alive. I know it, I can feel it in my heart of hearts but the evidence, Gil, it's spinning me in circles. Who-, what do I trust? What am I supposed to do?_

"_I trust in you. Come and find me. I'm waiting. I'll be waiting for you to find me. I know you'll work it out. Go back to Heather. She's got the key. I know she's the key. Don't give up on her! Don't give up on me!"_

_How could I ever do that? You're my life. You and Noah are the air I breathe. You know I'll never give up. I won't leave you behind. I will find you Gil, if it's the last thing I ever do. _

"_I know. I have faith. I have you and Noah with me."_

_I never gave up in the past; I never did, even when it looked like it was the end. The thought of coming back to you, of seeing you again carried me through when I thought I was going to die out there in the desert. And you found me. I remember the happiness shining in your eyes and your teary smile when I opened my eyes for the first time. It thought I'd died and gone to heaven then. But no, you were there. With me. You had me. You were holding my hand and I didn't even have the strength to smile back at you. I came so close to dying then. _

"_But you didn't and look at what we've achieved since. Look at what we've got now. I'm waiting, Sara. I trust you with my life. Come and find me."_

_I have you, Gil._

"Come on, Sara, you're not about to give up now. Chin up! You're wasting precious time. Time Gil doesn't have. Go after that son of a bitch."

Suddenly, time was an issue and she ran to the Dodge and in no time at all pulled in Heather's drive. She made her way to the back door which she unlocked as quietly as possible with the key Heather had entrusted her with. She was glad to notice that the kitchen was dark and the house very quiet and still. She went straight to the guest room upstairs not bothering to switch on any lights. Opening the door she smiled in relief at the sight of her son, literally sleeping like a baby. She tiptoed her way to the bed, sat on the edge and took a moment to watch him sleep while she tentatively stroked his face, wary of waking him, in the same soft manner she had watched Grissom do so many times in the past.

He looked so peaceful, so unaware, and so beautiful. Her eyes filled.

"I'm going to find him, Noah. I promise you won't grow up without your daddy. He loves you so much. There are still many things he wants to teach you, still too many things we got to do as a family."She paused and took her baby's tiny hand in hers as she swept a strand of curly hair from his eyes."Don't you ever tell him I said that but…just this once…the hell with the evidence. I know he's still with us, I can feel it in here," she added, bringing the hand that was holding Noah's over her heart.

A while later she stepped out of the room to fetch herself some water from the kitchen. She opened a few cabinets at random before finding a glass and filling it up almost to the brim with tap water. She drank it all in one go before refilling it.

"I got a call from Captain Brass. He's been looking for you. Why didn't you tell me about the photograph?" Heather's tone although hushed was short and accusatory.

Startled, Sara almost dropped the glass when she heard Heather's husky reprimand. She turned round abruptly and spilled some of the water on the floor. A whisky tumbler in front of her, Heather was sitting at the table in the corner of the dimly-lit room, the moonlight being the only source of light. On noticing the glass, Sara's eyes almost came out of their orbits. "I can't believe this. Were you drinking? Have you been drinking while you were watching Noah? Are you drunk now?"

The disbelief and reproach in Sara's voice didn't go unnoticed by Heather who squared up her shoulders. "He's fine," Heather spat cuttingly. "Your precious son is fine. He never woke up. And so that you know, I don't appreciate your tone of voice. You're not the only one who cares about Grissom." Her voice was rising steadily. "You're not the only one who's missing their loved one. You're not the only one who's in pain here. And no," she continued, breathing hard and almost shouting, "I haven't been drinking. I came close but I couldn't. I wouldn't." The last sentence was uttered so quietly that Sara hardly heard it.

Stunned by Heather's outburst, Sara kept quiet.

Heather went on, "I tried very hard pussy-footing round you this afternoon and I was so busy repressing my feelings, wary of yours that you never stopped to think I might be hurting too. Ali's the only family I have left and Grissom, my only true friend. All the while you think he's dead and you don't think to share this with me? I heard a lot about you from him but not that you were a self-righteous, pompous..." she stopped herself short, seconds from calling Sara a bitch and instead banged her fist on the table, getting to her feet. "Actually, to judge from your husband's words you're far from being 'little miss perfect' yourself."

Sara lifted her hand up to interrupt Heather, blowing her top. "You think you're above reproach yourself? If you didn't have so many enemies, neither Gil nor Alison would have been kidnapped. This has happened because of _you_," she spat waving her glass toward Heather, causing water to spill out. "Gil would never have come back to Vegas and got in harm's way…and I'd still have him with me-" she added, her voice trembling with emotion, "and Noah would still have his dad."

"Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I feel the all-encompassing guilt?" Heather yelled with so much sadness and despair that for the first time, Sara realised that Heather was indeed hurting in the same way she was. "HE was taken in MY car, instead of ME. Don't you think that if I could I would change it all? I would rather die than have Alison and Grissom in the hands of this bastard."

Seeing Heather so heart-broken and distraught quickly dissipated Sara's anger, and she bit her tongue, letting out a long sigh. "This isn't helping," she said after a moment, lowering her gaze from Heather's face onto the table. That was when she caught sight of the baby monitor and felt a pang of guilt at her earlier accusations that Heather couldn't be trusted. She saw something else too, something shimmering in the moonlight. She frowned as she peered at the object in heather's hand. "Is this a picture of Alison?" she asked with a nod.

Taken aback by the sudden change in Sara's temper, Heather glanced down at the framed picture in her hand, a fond smile involuntarily curling her mouth at the sight of her grand-daughter before nodding her head sadly.

"May I?"

Heather held out the picture to Sara before silently getting up to switch a side lamp on, taking her whisky with her. Sara set her glass on the table and took the time to look at the grinning little girl posing at the back of a small yacht. She looked so happy, so carefree, and so innocent. "She's very beautiful," she said turning round to make eye contact with Heather who was pouring her whisky down the sink before joining Sara to look at the photograph.

"It's one of my favourite of Ali," she said quietly. "It was taken a few months ago now. She's changed so much since. We were," Heather closed her eyes as she reminisced, "we have a boat moored in the marina in Hemenway Harbor, in the Las Vegas Bay."

Sara turned her head to the side toward Heather. "On Lake Mead?"

Heather nodded missing Sara's urgent tone and continued staring at the photo. "Ali loves to go. She loves the water. We don't go often enough I'm afraid. The last time we were there we spent the Memorial Day week-end there and we…" Heather frowned and stopped talking. One minute she was gazing at the picture in fond memory, the next she was looking up, staring off into space, a faraway look shadowing the pureness of her blue eyes.

"Heather?" Sara called but got no reply. Sara moved and turned fully round to face Heather. "Heather? Is everything all right?"

Visibly distressed, Heather refocused her gaze on Sara and brought a shaky hand to her face as she pushed her hair to the side. "Oh my God," she whispered as if in a daze. "I've just remembered." She shook her head and narrowed her eyes as if trying to make sense of her recollection.

"What?" Sara asked.

"The boat. Lake Mead…I think I know who's taken them. Although…" she let her words drift.

Sara's heart began to thump in her chest. Was this the breakthrough she had been waiting for? "Tell me, Heather. Who do you think's got them? A name, Heather, do you have a name?"

"McCormick. Stephen McCormick. He said he was visiting friends further up the shore. I don't remember where exactly but we met by chance and he asked me out to dinner. I turned him down and he was quite insistent but I wasn't interested. He was disappointed though. Well, in fact he took it quite badly but I didn't think anything more of it. That was, what? Almost four or five months ago?" She turned toward Sara. "I haven't heard from him since. Do you remember him?"

Sara frowned. The name didn't sound familiar. "Should I?"

Heather was beginning to look anxious and she was shaking. "He was peripherally involved in a couple of murders Grissom investigated back in 2003. Grissom had a few dealings with him and his wife as far as I recall. Chloe Samms – she was on my payroll – killed for him. She killed his wife as well as two male escorts I employed. Very tragic really. McCormick was an investor in the business who, shall I say, took more than a vested interest and that's how he got to know Chloe."

"I remember the case but Grissom pulled me off it. I don't get how this ties in to Alison – or Gil – if it's you he wants." Sara noticed Heather's growing distress and silently led her to a chair.

Heather was struggling to cope. "Oh Sara! You couldn't begin to imagine…It doesn't bear to think about and he's had Alison for two weeks…two long weeks. He's…he is heavily into S&M – the worst kind. I worked with him for many years and yet he never succeeded in defining who he was, his role in the relationship. He's always aspired to be the dominant one and he tried in vain to educate Rebecca – his wife – or have me educate her into being the submissive one into their marriage. She had other ideas. Once he opened that Pandora's Box, let's just say, she went looking outside the relationship, thus breaking his trust. Now, trust is very important in an S&M relationship. Chloe, well, she was his 'slave' – he was the dominant one in that relationship but only because Chloe let him have the power – a power he didn't have really or knew what to do with." She covered her mouth with her hand and started to cry. "What if he took Alison because he wanted_ her?_ Maybe we've been going about this the wrong way and he never wanted _me_ at all?"

"Heather, don't start putting ideas into your head. He kidnapped Gil thinking he was taking _you_."

The gaze Heather turned on Sara was fierce and full of hatred. "If he's laid one finger on her, I'm going to kill this narcissistic sadistic son of a bitch's ass…" Heather broke down, weeping, making a whimpering sound that spoke of her helplessness.

Sadly, Sara didn't have anything to say that could assuage Heather's fears or make her feel better. She changed tack. "What about drugs? Would he have access to them?"

Heather looked up, startled by Sara's new direction. She wiped her tears with the back of her thumb. "Drugs? What kind of drugs?"

"Pharmaceutical ones, heavily regulated, hard to get your hands on unless you know what you're doing."

"I don't know about that although I seem to recall his wife worked in the pharmaceutical industry but…" Heather shrugged a shoulder, "she's dead."

Sara nodded distractedly, a scowl on her face, thinking.

"Why?" Heather asked when Sara remained silent.

Sara whipped her head round. "Huh?" She smiled uneasily. "I'm not sure. A theory I'm working on. Do you know where he lives?"

"I know where he lived then. Whether he kept the house after his wife died-"

Sara looked at her watch. It read 4.00 am. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. I'll go and get Noah. You go and get dressed. We're going to go and pay him a visit."

Surprised, Heather looked up and narrowed her eyes, a defiant bright spark appearing in them for the first time. "Shouldn't we inform Captain Brass first?"

"We should but we're not going to. Not yet. We're going to take a look first. We're acting on a hunch and have no evidence linking McCormick to the abductions. Anyway, by the time he gets the paperwork together and a warrant," she continued with a quick shake of her head, "it would just take too long and if you're right I'd rather not alert McCormick we're on to him."

Sara then remembered the printout she had of the man who had delivered the envelope at the lab and wondered whether Heather would be able to identify McCormick from it. But since she had left it in her purse in the car and time was short she would show it to Heather on the way. Besides, she told herself, they were only going to take a look.

Nothing would happen, would it?

* * *

Tbc.


	34. Chapter 34

Valerie was standing by the basin in the darkened bathroom looking at her battered reflection in the mirror. Silent tears were falling down her cheeks as she forlornly examined her injuries. Her right eye and cheekbone which had turned a dark shade of purple were so bruised and swollen that she could barely open her eyelid and although she was trying her hardest to stem the flow of tears, those came unremittingly stinging her like thorns.

Or was that the searing pain of her still sore and raw scalp where Stephen had pulled her hair off?

How could she have let this occur? What had happened to her, to her free spirit, to her strength of character? Once upon a time, she would never have allowed another being – let alone a man – to treat her with so much disdain, and with so much hate. She sighed, shaking her head at the shadow of her former self staring back at her in the mirror. How could she have got it so wrong? What about the promises Stephen had made to her, the plans for the future? He could be so charming, so pleasant and so compelling. Of course he had hurt her in the past but it had always been in the confines of the 'games' they played and she had been a more or less willing participant. Yet she had already known he had an 'angry streak', she had caught glimpses of it but so far his temper had never been directed at her.

She was dabbing at the head wound, wincing when movement at the open bathroom door startled her. Alison was standing there in her pyjamas, staring. "What are you doing up so early? How did you get out?" Valerie asked wearily. Suddenly feeling drained and exhausted by life, she couldn't bring herself to be angry at the little girl.

"The door wasn't locked."

"Go back to your room; it's safer if you stay out of the way."

Alison made no move to leave. "Does it hurt? Did_ Daddy_ do that? Did he hurt you? Is that why you're crying?"

"You ask too many questions," Valerie replied distractedly as she parted her hair, looking in the mirror. She picked up the pair of scissors that she had previously placed on the side of the basin and began the slow task of carefully cutting her long curly red hair around the wound. The more she cut at it, long strands cascading all around her and covering the floor, the more her tears intensified, big fat teardrops splashing down into the basin and becoming heaves as she realised that cutting her hair would change her appearance but would not change who she was and would not turn her into Chloe.

She wasn't Chloe and despite her best effort, she would never be. Hell, they didn't even share the same DNA.

Alison was silently watching the scene unfold, mesmerised by the beautiful hair tumbling down to the ground. She was leaning on the doorframe, looking scared and apprehensive but also sad and thoughtful.

After a while, when Valerie had stopped her hacking and seemed to be calming a little the little girl whispered, "Why have you cut your hair?" When her keeper didn't reply, Alison called, "Valerie?"

"Huh?" Valerie replied, reaching for a towel. She dried her cheeks and gathered her make-up.

"Are you okay? Do you need help?"

"Help?" Valerie repeated as if in a daze. "_Help?_" she said again with a nervous snort, shaking her head. She began the slow task of dabbing a little foundation over her bruised face. "What good would that do?" She didn't seem able to conceal the bruise and she squirted a big dollop directly onto her cheek, fighting a new wave of tears. "Where is he?" she asked after a while. "Where is _Daddy_?"

"He's upstairs with him." Alison hesitated. "His name's Gil. He-"

"Gil?" Valerie frowned, wincing in pain as the movement pulled at her skin. "You spoke to him?"

"He's a friend of my mama's. They're coming to rescue us. They could rescue you too." Alison clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from saying anymore, knowing she had already inadvertently said too much.

"Is that right? Is that what he told you?" Valerie snorted in disbelief. "Oh sweetie, it's way too late for that. It's too late for him anyway; we can't help him anymore but you know what?" She made eye contact with Alison through the mirror and smiled. "Maybe it's not too late for us. Go and pack your stuff. Take the backpack in the cupboard in your room. Only one bag, pack and then hide it. Hide it well."

"Why? Are we leaving again? Are you taking me back home?"

"Yes, that's right sweetie. We're going home. We're going somewhere nice, somewhere far and safe, somewhere where he won't find us, where nobody will find us." She then turned round and walked the two steps to the little girl before crouching down. Taking Alison by the shoulders, she whispered softly, "Listen, Madison, everything's going to be all right. He won't hurt us anymore. I thought we'd be a family but I can see I was wrong. Come on, go pack now. We're going on an adventure, just the two of us. We'll leave as soon as _Daddy_'s gone out."

"This is nice," McCormick said, making Valerie jump in fright. "What are you two doing here?"

Valerie smiled uneasily at Alison and stood up without meeting her partner's eye. She turned her back to him and silently resumed covering her bruises with make-up.

"Alison, come with me," McCormick murmured, holding out his hand. "There's something I want to show you."

"Stephen, please…" Valerie pleaded weakly.

McCormick looked up abruptly toward the mirror, catching Valerie's reflection in it, his gaze meeting hers. The menacing glare he threw her was as hard and as cold as steel, wordlessly warning her to remember her place, or else.

* * *

"Stay in the car. If McCormick's here, he'll recognise you. He's never seen me," Sara told Heather as they pulled into Desert Ranch Road and parked up a few houses down from their target.

Heather hesitated. "I'm going to call Captain Brass. We shouldn't have come without informing him. McCormick is highly dangerous and totally unpredictable. If he thinks we're onto him, he won't hesitate to-"

"I'll just go and knock; see who's in," Sara assured.

Heather nodded. She reached down for her purse by her feet, opened it and took out a Ruger 9mm P45 semi-automatic pistol. She held it out to Sara who seemed to hesitate briefly. "Just as a precaution," she explained.

Sara turned to peer over her shoulder at the house, pondering how wise it was for her to be carrying. Sighing she turned back, nodding her head. She took the weapon, tucked it in the back of her pants and put her hand on the car handle. She waited a beat, looking as though she was giving herself a pep talk. Opening the car door, she peered back over her shoulder at the car one last time and smiled before getting out and striding determinedly the fifty yards or so separating the car from McCormick's front door.

Dawn was only just breaking over the deserted suburban street. Cars were parked in front of garages up and down the street but not in front of their suspect's. Drapes were pulled over most windows including those of the house she was about to rouse from sleep. She glanced at her watch: 5.30 am. What plausible reason could she use to explain her early morning call and blag her way in if someone answered the door?

Sara looked for a doorbell but there wasn't one. She knocked once and waited. Nothing. She knocked again, this time more forcefully but there was still no reply. She stepped back to cast a glance at the upstairs windows to see if a light had come on. No. Restless, she walked back to the door and cupped her hands to the side window and caught a glimpse of the darkened foyer. No movement there either.

When she made to turn round to shake her head in the negative toward Heather in the car she immediately sensed something or rather someone behind her and stopped dead in her tracks. Heart suddenly pounding in her chest, Sara gasped inaudibly. She then gently eased her right arm down the side of her body before slowly reaching for the gun in her pants while in one swift move turning on her heels and pointing the gun steadily in front of her as she said confidently, "Las Vegas Crime lab. Please, stay where you are."

"Sara! It's me!" Heather whispered loudly as she leapt back in surprise, her face draining of all colour.

Releasing the breath she had been holding, Sara lowered the gun. "Shit, Heather. You scared the crap out of me. I told you to stay in the car. I could have killed you."

"I was growing impatient. You weren't making any progress."

"No one appears to be in. I was considering taking a look round the back," Sara said, deciding to keep the pistol in hand.

* * *

In the meantime, both Brass's anger and radar were off the scale. When he had finally had time to call the Dominion and was given welcomed news about the whereabouts of Noah, Brass had known Sara wasn't far from her son and the feeling of relief he had felt then had overwhelmed him. Yet this feeling was only momentary and was quickly replaced by an overpowering anger borne out of frustration. And regardless of the fact that Heather had repeatedly assured him that she would get Sara to call him as soon as she returned, he was still reeling by the time he had hung up the phone.

He once more checked his watch, shaking his head, knowing that by now Sara had to have made it back to the Dominion if only to take care of Noah. What was taking her so long? Why hadn't she called?

He let a frustrated grunt. Something was off; he would bet his bottom dollar on it.

He tried calling the Dominion again – no one was home – and then his car phone and when there was no reply there either, he told himself he had no choice but to get the tracker activated on his Dodge. Really, Sara hadn't left him any choice. Grissom would never forgive him if something, something he could have prevented, was to happen to his wife and son - and Heather too for that matter; he told himself he was only looking out for them.

_That's right, she will understand._

He soon traced the Charger back to an address in Desert Ranch Road. _Desert Ranch Road?_ Something about this address rang a bell but he couldn't immediately put his finger on why. The police captain shook his head, exasperated; neither woman had any business in that part of Vegas at that time of the day and his gut twisted in a knot when he checked the house owner's name.

_Shit!_

Lights flashing and sirens screaming into the breaking dawn, he made it across town in record time but decided to turn those off as he entered the residential area. Stopping his Taurus behind his own private car, he got out like the proverbial bat out of hell, unholstering his gun which he pointed toward the windows of McCormick's house in a covering motion as he checked the Dodge for its occupants. Finding it empty, he trotted the distance toward the seemingly unoccupied house.

He let out a long angry breath. If Heather and Sara were there, he couldn't see any evidence of it – except for his car, of course.

As he approached, he noticed that the side gate latch leading to the back yard was unhooked. Keeping his gun at the ready, he quietly nudged the gate open with his elbow to find the yard quiet and empty. He did another visual survey of the yard, frowning. Proceeding slowly, so as not to make a sound, and with caution he peered through the poor light searching for his two friends.

Nothing.

He heard movement to his right and he jerked sideways, his weapon drawn and pointing. He was at the ready, waiting to see whether he had inadvertently awoken an urban fox or such creature when a voice quietly called, "Jim, it's me. Sara. It's all right. We're all right. You can lower your gun."

Unsure whether to trust this information or not, Brass kept hold of his gun but angled it down slightly as he took a few cautious steps towards an old wooden shed. There, he found Sara and Heather crouched down, hiding. Sara had Heather's Ruger drawn.

First the police captain let an inward sigh of relief that both women were safe and sound and then he quickly checked that they weren't in any way held under duress. Only when he was absolutely sure they were on their own did he lower his gun.

He was fuming.

"The first thing they teach you at CSI school is to wait for police back-up," he told Sara through gritted teeth. "How many goddamn times have you put me in this situation?"

Although her heartbeat was only now slowing down to a more normal rate, Sara didn't look contrite at all or overly surprised to see Brass there as she discreetly tidied Heather's gun in the back of her pants, making sure to cover it with her jacket. Choosing to ignore his last remark she replied, "We have. You're here."

"Goddamn it Sara. This isn't a game. You know better than put yourself and Heather in danger. What were you thinking, huh? Don't you think I have enough on my plate without chasing you all over Vegas? And you!" he said turning toward Heather, shooting her a look of disappointment, "I thought we had an understanding. I thought you had more sense and that I could trust you."

Heather could only look away under Brass's scrutiny.

"Come on!" Sara murmured, placing a placating hand on his shoulder. "Let's not waste any more time. I assume since you made it here, either Heather eventually called you to inform you of what we were doing or you worked out the abductor's identity yourself."

Shaking his head in disbelief at Sara's recklessness, Brass asked Heather, "Are you sure McCormick's responsible for this?"

Heather shrugged her shoulders in uncertainty before nodding her head sadly.

Brass returned his weapon to its holster and took out his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration beading on his forehead as he pondered the consequences of Heather's identification of their abductor.

Noticing Brass's spilt second indecision Sara inquired impatiently. "What is it, Jim? Don't you want to find them? Don't you want to find Gil and Alison?"

Brass thought back to the last conversation the two men had shared and looked down. "You know damn well that's not true and that I want nothing more than to find them but-"

"Come on then, let's go in! I knocked, pounded on the door and took a quick look round the back. Nothing suspicious and all appears calm. Either everyone's dead to the world," Sara's face fell at her unfortunate choice of words but she recovered quickly adding, "or the house is empty."

Brass lifted a hand at Sara. "Wow. Back up a little. And on what grounds, on what evidence are we going to go in? Heather's word?"

Stunned by Brass's reaction – or rather lack of – Sara stared at him incredulously and then her temper got the better of her. "On what grounds?" she whispered loudly. "ON WHAT BLOODY GROUNDS? What about the fact that this bastard took Alison and Gil prisoner? What about the fact that he killed Gil and that afterwards he thought it would be fun to send me a picture of my dead husband, your dear friend? God knows what he's done to Alison. GODDAMN IT JIM! ARE YOU JUST GOING TO STAND HERE AND WAIT FOR THEIR BODIES TO TURN UP?" She was breathing hard and she turned away muttering to herself. "I can't fucking believe this."

"Of course I want to find them. You know I'd give my life for them." Brass placed his hand on Sara's shoulder. "But please, Sara, calm down. You know we got to do this properly, that we can't just go barging in there. If we want any of the evidence we find to stand up in court-"

Sara spun round, her face inches from Brass's face, her eyes ablaze boring into his. "Court? _Court?_" she snorted angrily. "Jim, I don't care about fucking court. I want my husband back. I want Gil and Alison back and alive." Choked by her emotion, she was struggling to breathe. Gasping, she said, "I don't care about court. And besides _we_ have evidence. Heather recognised McCormick on the security tape printout we have and-"

Tempers were flaring: neither willing to calm down and see the other one's point of view when the shrill sound of breaking glass interrupted Sara mid-sentence. Brass and she both instinctively dropped to their haunches, heads down with Brass drawing his gun and moving protectively in front of Sara. He swiftly trained his gun toward to house.

But for the broken French door glass window all looked as it had a moment ago.

Brass couldn't help grunt furiously when he noticed the rock Heather was still holding in her hand. Lifting the rock to look at it, the ex-dominatrix shrugged ruefully before carelessly dropping it to the ground. "Now, you've got grounds to go in," she said. "Someone has obviously attempted to break in. It's your duty to check, isn't it, Captain Brass?"

Brass flashed Heather a look of irritation and threw up his hands in frustration. He closed his eyes wearily, muttering under his breath something unflattering about women. Grudgingly, he reached for the radio in his pocket and called dispatch to inform them of the situation. Slipping his radio away, Brass was shaking his head in disbelief when he explained, "A good neighbour had already rung in saying they heard voices and they thought someone was breaking in. A patrol's already on their way. So _we_'re going to do what _we_ should have done from the beginning and wait for back up before going in, all right?" he asked, emphasising both 'we's' in the sentence. "All right?"

Heather nodded and Sara reluctantly followed suit, looking completely defeated and downcast as she stared at the house, fighting hard the urge to rush in. They moved to the front of the property and silently waited for back up – which arrived in minutes.

Brass took the time to check his gun and secure his bullet-proof vest. "Sara, promise me to stay out until we've cleared the house, okay? Do you understand me? Sara?"

Sara's gaze was fixed, staring unblinkingly at the house. She knew – as did the others – that by now, either the house was empty and they were back to square one or they would make a gruesome discovery.

* * *

Tbc.


	35. Chapter 35

Alison looked on helplessly as she was being led by the hand toward the stairs. Silently pleading for help, she forlornly glanced back toward the bathroom and caught Valerie's tearful and sullen gaze in the mirror. Yet the latter didn't move or say anything to help the little girl, an innocent lamb slowly being led to the slaughter.

* * *

Grissom was weak, bound to soft leather restraints hanging from the ceiling and had been so since McCormick's tragic discovery of Valerie's betrayal. It felt like he was being slowly ripped apart, only able to use his right leg to support himself – his left thigh yet again a shattered mess. The weight of his deadened body dragged him down, almost tearing his arms out of their sockets. When McCormick had gone, he had left the door open and the lights on in the bedroom and Grissom knew that his reprieve would only be momentary.

There was nothing Grissom wished more at that moment than pass out and lose consciousness. Oh, he didn't want to die, far from it, for despite his ordeal he had too much to live for and he knew that it was only a matter of time before Brass and the team came and rescued him – them – but this time the searing unrelenting and sometimes unbearable pain was sadly keeping him awake, alert even as he moaned and groaned in agony, hoping against all odds that Alison had managed to call for help and that it was on its way.

He let out a small derisory grunt at his own expense. _Help? On its way? _If his jaw wasn't killing him so much Grissom would almost have laughed at the idiocy of the situation. God, imagine if they were to find him in that position, shackled to the ceiling in his soiled boxers he would never live it down. For one second he even wondered whether it would be better not to be rescued at all.

He didn't get the time to ponder that thought in greater detail though as he soon heard muffled noises coming from the stairs, heralding his attacker's return. He let his eyes drift shut, feigning unconsciousness.

_It hasn't worked in the past but pray to God for small mercies._

Yet, it was only when he heard the small, unmistakeable sharp intake of breath followed by an almost inaudible terrified cry on seeing the interior of the room for the fist time that, even without looking up, Grissom knew McCormick hadn't returned on his own.

_Oh, dear God. _

Grissom dropped the pretence hoping to buy Alison some reprieve. "Please, McCormick. Please, don't do this," Grissom pleaded, his gasped words slurred. He could hear Alison's soft whimpered pleas as she begged for her tormentor to let her go, hopelessly tugging his hand back in an effort to break free, and then her quiet cries turning to loud sobs as McCormick tightened his grip on her hand to almost breaking point. "Do what you want on me but please, leave her alone. She's only a child." Even to his own ears, his argument sounded feeble but what else could he say?

Alison had yet to notice Grissom though and as she did, she let out the most horrified, hysterical scream he had ever heard, a scream so chilling that it brought tears to his eyes. And then a deathly silence descended upon them and for a minute, Grissom thought – hoped even – that Alison had somehow fainted, the shock and trauma too much to bear.

Yet when he turned his head toward the door, he saw her stood there, eyes wide with fear, her hand still in McCormick's, rooted to the spot, traumatised by the sight of Grissom's half-naked bloodied and battered body and there was nothing he could do but shamefully avert his gaze to the floor.

McCormick ignored Grissom's appeal and yanked the petrified little girl by the hand further into the room. "Alison," he said quietly and with some warmth even. "Come with me. Come with me," he repeated more forcefully when she was dragging her feet. He then turned to address Grissom. "I've decided to bring her initiation forward and start today," he said casually over Alison's sobbing. "I was waiting for Heather…" he let his words trail with a dismissing shake of the head, "but you'll do for starters."

"You're sick," Grissom gasped.

"Music to my ears," he smiled, amused at Grissom's weak interruption. "Alison!" he unexpectedly barked, glaring at the little girl and making her jump in terror. "Stop snivelling, it shows weakness."

Grissom could tell Alison was trying her hardest to keep her crying to a minimum and his heart broke as he thought of what was to come for her.

McCormick calmly continued with his explanation. "I'm going to groom her – slowly, rest assured – and what better way to immunise her from all this than start at an early age. First, she needs to get used to seeing pain being inflicted upon others and in this instance, you," McCormick said as though what he was doing was a perfectly normal everyday occurrence. "Then, she will learn to receive pain and ultimately to the point of enjoyment. Lastly," he concluded as though teaching a class on the matter, "she will learn to inflict pain herself whilst, most obviously, taking pleasure in the act. Then, comes the sexual gratification."

Lost for words, Grissom was feeling sick to his stomach and he could feel the bile rising. He tried very hard to keep it down, to swallow it back, he really did but unable to do so he began to retch uncontrollably until he vomited what little Valerie had fed him, over himself and most importantly over McCormick who was standing close by. McCormick's eyes became wild with bewilderment at first and then with fury and he abruptly let go of Alison's hand to grab the first thing on hand. His eyes burning with undisguised loathing, he started his frenzied flogging on Grissom.

After the first two lashes, as if in the midst of losing his mind, Grissom's pained laughter began to fill the room, quietly demented at first and then coming hysterically as visions of Jesus on the cross, receiving his thirty-nine lashes flashed through his mind.

Literally petrified, Alison stood numb for a second until her survival instinct kicked in, allowing her to flee the room. At the fifth whiplash, the pain becoming too much, his body gave up, allowing him some long-awaited reprieve as he once again passed out.

* * *

"Sara?" Brass moved nearer and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Sara? Are you going to be all right?" Sara kept her gaze fixed on the house and Brass could tell she was desperately fighting her emotions. "I need you to stay out, okay. I need you to promise me," Brass instructed and Sara gave an imperceptible nod of her head, showing she understood.

"You too, Heather, please," he said turning. "I don't want to have to worry about your safety on top of everything else. If someone was in, one way or another they'd have made themselves known by now but I don't want to run the risk."

Both Sara and Heather were grimly nodding their understanding, knowing what his well-meant words were a guise for and Brass knew that he had finally gotten through to them.

He turned and nodded to his men and they walked round the back of the house, checking for signs of B&E. The captain silently pointed to the broken French door glass and knocked on the frame with the grip of his gun while he called, "Captain Brass, LVPD, is anyone in the house?", already knowing he wouldn't be getting a reply. He then glanced over his shoulders to make sure Heather and Sara had stayed put before motioning for one of his officers to use his baton and break the remainder of the glass panel. He then reached in to unlock the door before entering with care.

After carefully checking each room in turn and declaring them 'Clear', Brass and his men met back downstairs, shaking their heads. After instructing them to secure the scene, Brass followed them out and found Heather and Sara pacing the backyard. "It's clear," he said quietly. "No one's in. Nothing's disturbed and for the locks on the outside of internal doors it's a regular house."

Of course, while Sara's face fell in disappointment even though she had been well aware that this was the most likely outcome and it certainly was a better one than finding them dead, Heather on the other hand let out an almighty howling 'No', crumpling onto herself in the back yard, not fully understanding that maybe it was better not to have found them at all.

Dealing with her own emotions as best she could, Sara cast Heather a somewhat disparaging look, making no move to go and comfort the woman. She turned her sullen expression toward Brass. "So he's not keeping them here, that's all," she murmured, turning round to focus her downcast and now tearful gaze toward the interior of the house before brushing past the police captain as she went in.

"Sara…"

"What?" she snapped, her gaze boring into his, as she dared him to stop her from entering.

He sighed. "Just…don't go touching anything, will you? I'm going to get CSI to come _process the break-in_."

She nodded as she made her way further inside the bowels of the house. Brass went to Heather and had a few comforting words with her before making his call to Catherine. Getting his cell out, he was about to dial her number when the device rang in his hand. Shaking his head at the display, he pressed 'connect' but didn't get time to bring the phone to his ear before he heard Catherine's barrage of words fill the air.

"Catherine," he interrupted. "Slow right down and start again."

"Jim, I'm still at the 'Duane Caruso' scene. I can't talk long but I wanted to let you know that Lindsey just called and Noah's at mine. Sara came by an hour and a half ago and left him with Lily. Apparently, she wasn't on her own. Mom didn't know who the other woman was but I think-"

Brass let out a long breath. "I know. I've found her. She's here with Heather. They…we…well, I need you ASAP to my location with your kit; 235 Desert Ranch Road."

Catherine took a moment to process the information. "W-Why?" she asked her voice full of fear. "Is…is this regarding Grissom? Have…have you found him?"

Brass hesitated, unsure which question to reply to. "No-"

"235 Desert Ranch Road, you said? Why does this address sound familiar?"

Brass closed his eyes, rubbing them with his free hand. "It's…it's Stephen McCormick's place. You may recall, a few years ago, we investigated his wife Rebecca on suspicion of murder-"

Catherine cut in with a gasp, "I remember now, it was the same night Eddie died. I don't understand, Jim. Why do you need me to come?"

"Officially, you're coming to process a B&E but Sara and Heather – we – have reasons to believe that McCormick's the one who kidnapped Gil and Alison and I need-"

"I get the picture, Jim," Catherine said grimly. "Greg can finish off without me here. Just give me time to pack my stuff up, call Nick and I'll see you in twenty."

When Brass made his way back inside after ending the call, he wasn't surprised to find Sara flicking through the open post neatly stacked on the kitchen counter. "Catherine's on her way," he told her.

Sara startled and then released her breath. "I've looked all around the house; I've compared the beds to the background on the Polaroid; no match. It just...looks like McCormick went on vacation; clothes in the closet, some toiletries missing from the bathroom. It's so immaculately clean and soulless, it's like he took a lot of time to wipe everything down. It's just too spotless, Jim, like every trace has been erased…" she stopped, sighing.

"And you did all that in the whole of five minutes?" he quipped with a small smile.

"There's no evidence he ever was here, Jim. Where is he?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Do you think we'll find him, find them in time? Do you think they're still alive? I'm so scared, Jim. I'm so scared he's not going to make it this time, I'm so scared I've lost him forever and I didn't tell him how much I loved him before he left. What if I never get that chance again? How am I going to cope if anything…" Sara choked and brought her hand up to cover her eyes, her shoulders shaking as she broke down miserably.

Quickly covering the distance separating them, Brass took her in his arms. Unable to find any words that would make her pain more bearable or simply make her feel better he kept quiet, tightening his hold of her as she let all her heartache out. After a little while, her crying subsided and she was the first to move, looking up to offer him a sad thankful smile. "I'll be fine," she murmured.

Noticing Sara's hesitation to say more, Brass smiled at her encouragingly.

Her gaze darting all around him except to make eye contact, Sara took a deep breath. "Listen, Jim, I know that now is not a good time and there's probably never going to be a good time for me to say this but well," she shrugged self-consciously while lowering her gaze to the floor, "if G-Gil is already…you know and if something was to happen to me…"

As though reading her mind, Brass opened his mouth to say 'No' but Sara suddenly looked up, shaking her head. "Please, Jim, don't interrupt me; let me do this. This is already hard enough but I need to do this. It's important to me that I do this now." She swallowed and smiled, unshed tears shining in her eyes. "Gil and I talked about it and we wanted to tell you when you came for Thanksgiving but you know what Gil's like…" she smiled again, lips wobbling. She took another deep breath and added, "All the paperwork's done and we-we'd like you to…we've named you Noah's legal guardian, you know if..." she shrugged sadly. "I want you to promise me that you'll make sure he's…always well-cared for and loved…"

A sudden, indescribable feeling of gloom descended upon Brass. "Please, Sara, stop," he whispered shaking his head. "It won't come to that." He smiled and tried to lighten the mood. "Where's all this coming from? Gil's not dead, we both know that."

"Jim, please, I need to know; I have to know. Promise me you'll love him as your son, as much as you love Ellie and that…"

He raised his index finger and placed it on Sara's mouth, indicating that she should stop talking and that he didn't want to listen to anymore of her nonsense. "You know I already love the little fellow. He's been a god-send to both of you and I know how much he means. Sara, I'm flattered and it's an honour to know you think so highly of me but this isn't the place or the time to be doing this. We'll talk about it over a steak – or whatever veggie meat you choose to eat – when Gil's back with us."

"Jim, I want you to promise me," she insisted, locking her weepy gaze on to his. "Be a father to him, please."

Brass looked at Sara in the eye and saw the distress and pent-up emotion that she was barely able to control. "It's important to you, isn't it?" he asked her eventually.

Sara nodded, releasing two solitary tears down her cheeks. Deciding that now wasn't the time to argue with what he put down to an emotional desperate reaction to Grissom's disappearance and to the photograph she had been sent, he slowly nodded his agreement. "I know it won't come to that, but if ever the need occurred I promise to raise him as my son." Brass put his finger under Sara's chin and tilted it upwards. He smiled as he brushed her tears away with his thumb. "Now will you stop with all this nonsense?"

As more tears came, Sara nodded, mouthing "Thank you."

Brass smiled again, this time a little stiffly when he noticed one of his officers hover nearby. He cleared his throat and let go of Sara as he returned to more comfortable grounds, saying, "Here is the only address I was able to find for McCormick."

Sara nodded, pursing her lips to keep the tears at bay and concentrated her attention back on the post she was still holding.

Brass was watching Sara, worried Grissom's disappearance was beginning to take its toll on his emotionally fragile friend when he noticed her demeanour suddenly shift and become all CSI-like. Knowing he wouldn't be able to keep her away from searching the house for evidence and that it was probably better for her if she kept busy and did something useful toward the investigation anyway, Brass reached under his vest into his PD-issued jacket pocket for a pair of latex gloves, which he handed to Sara as well as a meaningful 'Don't contaminate anything' stare. "When I…located you and found you were here," he began tentatively, "I checked all McCormick's known addresses. This is the only one listed in the system. Are you sure…"

Slipping the gloves on, Sara nodded in anticipation of what Brass was going to say. "Heather made a positive ID from the printout. There's no doubt in her mind. I trust her on that."

"Okay. I'll call dispatch and check what he drives, just to be on the safe side and then I'll put an APB out for his arrest," Brass said. He paused, as she removed a letter from an envelope. "What have you got?"

Sara remained silent as she turned the letter over in her hand, examining it. "Take a look at this," she said after a while. "It's a statement from the Bank of America**,** postmarked ten days ago. I'm assuming it took one day – two at the most – for it to get here. There's no post here past that date and that's way before Gil got back to Vegas. Besides, McCormick's made several cash withdrawals from the same ATM just outside Boulder Beach. I really think Gil was never here and that McCormick's got another place-"

Heather's distressed call coming from the first floor interrupted Sara in her stride. "Jim!" she yelled.

Sara dropped the letter and rushed up the wooden staircase, taking them two at a time, closely followed by Brass. They turned into the first bedroom on the left, hearts pounding wondering what Heather could have found that would warrant the trembling fear in her voice. They found the woman sitting on the single bed clutching something close to her face, shoulders shaking and tears streaming down her face.

Sara approached tentatively and put her hand on Heather's shoulder. "Heather? What is it? Have you got something?"

Heather peered over her shoulder, her face streaked with tears. "She was here," she said in a small voice. "Alison. She was here. This, it's hers," she whispered, lifting the backpack in view. "It's her Dora backpack. She had it with her when…when she was abducted from the park." She sniffed pitifully. "Do you remember, Jim?" In response, Brass smiled tightly, giving a small nod of his head. "Oh, my God, do you think it means she's still alive?"

Sara removed her hand from Heather's shoulder and slowly walked backwards out of the room. It was more than she could bear to listen to the hope in Heather's voice and as she reached the threshold, she knocked into Brass before turning and rushing past him back downstairs.

Torn between following a fleeing Sara and reassuring Heather, Brass awkwardly replied, sighing, "I honestly don't know." Finding this situation too close for comfort, he cleared his throat uneasily. "Heather, please you shouldn't touch anything. The backpack may have some trace evidence on it and-"

Heather looked down at the bag in her hands and nodded as though registering for the first time what she was doing. She put it back down on the bed as she had found it and got up, flattening the bedspread with her hands as though the mere gesture could erase any signs of her presence there. As though hypnotized but clearly disappointed in the police captain, she stomped past him without saying a word.

Brass threw his hands in the air in disbelief and checked his watch. "I'm going to call dispatch and put an APB out on the man and his vehicle," he mumbled to no one in particular. As he was finishing his call, Catherine had joined him upstairs. "Well, that was never twenty minutes," he quipped nervously.

"You all right?"

Brass lifted his shoulder in a small shrug. "No," he replied. "I'll skip on the details but I'm in way over my head here, Catherine and I'm not talking about McCormick. The likes of him I can handle all right. I don't know how to deal with either of them-"

Catherine nodded her understanding. "I don't think there's anything we can do except do what we do and find Gil and Alison."

"Is Sara still around? Have you seen her?"

Something in Brass's weary, concerned tone worried her and Catherine frowned in an 'Am I missing something kind of way?' but felt it preferable to let it go. "She's downstairs, sifting through some paperwork and pictures in the dining-room; she's looking to see if she can find another address for McCormick or anything that would give us an idea of where he's keeping them or any information about an accomplice. She still thinks they're kept somewhere near Lake Mead. She told me about the backpack too." She sighed. "At least we've got a name now. It's only a matter of time before we find them."

Brass nodded. "Where's Nick?"

"Captain?" Brass turned toward one of his officers. "We just got a call from dispatch. They've had a 911 call from Alison Kessler. They think she was calling from Grissom's cell but lost the connection. They tried to reach you-"

"But my radio's turned down," Brass finished for his man. "Okay, thanks Peters."

"There we go," he then muttered to Catherine with a sigh, "let the chase begins."

* * *

Tbc.


	36. Chapter 36

At the fifth lash, McCormick threw the whip on the floor as unexpectedly as he had picked it up, stopping his manic lynching, disgusted that Grissom had passed out so soon. He snorted as he thought about the dying man's low pain threshold, feeling smug and satisfied at his little display. However, his audience had gone and his subject was unconscious. What was the point of inflicting pain on his subject if the man wasn't awake to enjoy it?

_No point flogging a dead horse_, he thought with a smirk.

After a few minutes spent closely observing the man for some reaction as though he were watching a specimen in a jar McCormick grew mildly concerned that Grissom hadn't come to yet. He carelessly pressed his warm sticky fingers to Grissom's throat feeling for his pulse. His heart skipped a beat when he didn't immediately locate one and he had a flitting moment of panic at the thought that maybe Grissom was already dead. However, when he shoved Grissom's head up to gain better access to the pulse point in his throat he soon smirked on discovering a faint heartbeat.

"Still some life in you, old man. Good."

Smiling, he lightly ran his fingers along Grissom's broken jaw, and lingered there feeling immense pleasure as he pressed a little harder at the fractured articulation just below the ear. Just as he was about to remove his hand, Grissom's eyes snapped wide open and McCormick jerked back in shock. He quickly recovered and pursed his lips into a very slow and sadistic smile when he noticed the horrendous pain mixed with outright fear reflected in the bloodshot eyes, emotions Grissom wasn't able to hide.

Yet the mood quickly changed; all of a sudden Grissom's eyes became wider still as he struggled to draw breath, gasping for air, his crooked mouth half-opened as he desperately sucked in precious air into his lungs. His eyes soon glazed over, pleading of their own accord for some mercy.

"Grissom! Don't you dare suffocate on me now!" McCormick exclaimed. "I haven't finished with you yet."

Grissom shut his eyes, still wheezing, gasping for air.

"This is not how I want it to end for you. This is not what I planned. I will choose when it is time for you to die; you do not get to decide. I'm the one in control here, not you."

McCormick watched as Grissom's lips pursed into a dubious smile. Oh the irony! If he'd had the strength – and the time – Grissom would have made a point of explaining a crucial and basic teaching in the S&M relationship McCormick should have learnt a long time ago: that the submissive one always has the power.

"DON'T YOU DARE DIE WITH A FUCKING SMILE ON YOUR FACE!" McCormick shouted. "YOU HEAR ME?"

McCormick quickly loosened the buckles on the restraints freeing Grissom who was too weak to stand and just toppled forward limply. He had just enough time to catch him over his shoulder before dropping him unceremoniously onto the bed. Shaking his head in disbelief at the turn the events were taking, he cast a disgusted look at Grissom for being so…pathetic.

"Shit! I need a new plan. Fuck!" McCormick muttered, pacing along the bed. He moved to the open door. "Valerie? Valerie?" he called loudly before rushing back to the bed, on the way catching sight of Grissom's pictures on the bedside table. He smiled wickedly as he picked them up, an idea forming in his head and studied them for a while as he considered the feasibility of his own Machiavellian machinations.

He looked around the room and when he noticed Valerie hadn't responded to his summon he inhaled deeply and loudly to contain his discontentment and growing frustration, his gaze as dark as a thunderous sky as he stormed out of the bedroom. "Where the fuck is she now?" he muttered to himself, rushing down the stairs. As he reached the bottom step he heard the toilet flush and made his way to the bathroom door, yanking it open expecting to find Valerie cowardly hiding in there.

He did a double take in surprise at discovering Alison, looking a sorry sight, eyes red and puffy from crying.

The little girl started in panic when she noticed McCormick and her expression shifted from scared to terrified in a split second. Yet her crying stopped. She began to shake, partly in fear of McCormick himself but most importantly lest he should find out about Grissom's cell missing from his jacket pocket, the phone she had only just used to call 911, the very phone she had only just managed to conceal from sight and was clutching in her hand behind her back.

"Where's Valerie?" he asked hurriedly.

Rooted to the spot, eyes wide with fear, Alison shrugged her ignorance as her fingers involuntarily curled tighter around the cell.

McCormick was distracted, looking around for Valerie. "Go to your room. Go play with your dolls."

Alison hesitated, afraid to walk past the man and reveal the phone.

McCormick looked down, narrowing his gaze suspiciously before crouching down to Alison's height. "What's this? What have you got in your hand?"

The little girl froze, her eyes immediately filling with fresh tears as she averted her gaze to the floor.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" he instructed harshly before adding in a menacing tone, "I said, What-have-you-got-in-your-hand?" Alison made no move. "PUT YOUR HAND OUT IN FRONT OF YOU!" he commanded leaving her no choice but to comply. "OPEN IT! The man then yelled even louder making her jump.

Alison did and McCormick snatched the phone out of her hand and examined it. He looked up at her in bewilderment and then it dawned on him whose phone it was. His mood becoming thunderous, he tried to switch it on.

"The battery's dead," he muttered frustratingly. "Did you get to use it?"

Alison lifted a shoulder in an almost imperceptible shrug.

"DID YOU MAKE A CALL?" he shouted to her face.

Alison began to frantically shake her head, silent tears still streaming down.

McCormick grabbed her by the hair and pulled. He pulled very hard. "Did you make the call?" he asked very quietly yet in a very threatening and frightening manner as he gave her hair a sharp tug.

Yelping in pain, Alison brought her hands up to her head to stop him from hurting her while giving a small nod of the head.

"Who did you call?"

Frightened to death at the obvious consequences of her actions, the five-year-old girl gasped, "The Police."

McCormick released his hold on her and let out a great frustrated scream as he smashed the phone against the wall. At the same time, in fear of McCormick's enraged outburst Alison brought her arms up to cover her face and curled herself in a tight ball thinking McCormick was going to hit her.

"You stupid, stupid girl…What have you gone and done now? Go. Go to your room. NOW!" McCormick yelled shaking his head in disbelief as Alison scurried for dear life. He followed her, slammed the door shut and then turned the key in the lock, on the look-out for Valerie.

* * *

"I've cleaned the recording as much as I can," Archie said as a preamble to the four people crammed into the A/V lab. "We can hear a lot better and a lot more than dispatch could."

Brass cleared his throat. "Heather, from what Archie tells me, Alison's upset and well, to tell you the truth I don't think it's a good idea for you to be here at all but Sara seems to think you might be able to help."

In response, Heather nodded with a quick thankful glance at Sara, choosing to stay. Brass made a face that seemed to say 'So be it' and motioned for Archie to start playing the recording.

"_Hello, 911, what is your emergency?"_

For the first ten seconds, Alison's distressed sobbing filled the line and Heather sucked in a breath, tears immediately filling her eyes.

"_Hello? Hello? You're through to the police. How may I help you?"_

"_Please come…It's horrible... killing …, he's killing him."_

Although she finally had the confirmation that Grissom was well and truly still alive, Sara's pulse quickened on hearing Alison's mention of 'killing him' and she turned her anxious gaze to Nick. Nodding with a small smile, the latter reached out and squeezed her shoulder in comfort.

Wracked with sobs, Alison's voice was weak, as was the connection and it was clear that dispatch had had to crank the volume up to the maximum to be able to hear. _"You've got to speak louder, okay? I can't hear you very well."_

"_I can't or … hear …. Please, you've got…and rescue us."_

"_How old are you, sweetheart? Is there another adult here that could help you?"_

"_No… yes but I'm hiding. If Daddy finds me, he'll be very angry and he'll…"_ They seemed to lose the connection for a moment.

"_Hello? Hello? Are you still there?" _

More intermittent crying filled the line and everyone in the A/V lab sighed in relief when they heard Alison come back on the line.

"_It's going to be all right, okay? We're going to come and get you. But I need help to find you, okay? What's your name, sweetheart?"_

"_A-Alison K-Kessler," _the little girl had said between sobs.

"At that point her name got flagged on the computer and realising who she was talking to, dispatch raised the alarm," Brass explained quickly.

"_Okay, Alison. We've been looking for you; I'm glad to be speaking with you. Are you all right? Are you safe talking now?"_

"_Yes… I'm … but I don't have long and…" _There was a sharp intake of breath followed by a pause and then Alison's crying intensified.

Heather brought one hand over her mouth and without thinking reached for Brass's hand with the other. The police captain squeezed it in return as he tried to offer a little comfort before deciding to make his gesture more meaningful. Turning his head he offered Heather what he hoped was a comforting smile.

Dispatch's voice came back on. _"It's all right sweetheart. You're being very brave. Can you tell me whether Dr Grissom is with you?"_

"_Who?"_

"_Dr Grissom. Gil Grissom? Is he being kept with you?"_

"_It's horrible… I can't hear him anymore." _Obviously panic-stricken, Alison was crying so much, she was almost hyperventilating and she hiccupped for air, muffling her answer.

"_Alison? I need you to calm down for me, okay? You need to stay calm."_ After a moment in silence, with only Alison's abating crying in the background, dispatch came back on the line_. "Take a deep breath for me now, sweetie. That's right. Good girl. I need to know where you are. Can you tell me where you are? Do you have an address?"_

"_No. We moved,"_ Alison cried into the phone, her crying turning into a hiccup-filled whisper. _"You've…got…help us, please."_

Concerned she was going to be cut off at any moment, dispatch's tone became more urgent. _"Alison? You're breaking up, sweetie; please you need to speak up. We're coming to help you, okay? But first you need to help us. Are you in a house? In the city? In the desert?" _

Alison's crying seemed to calm as she carefully thought about the answer to the question. _"We're in a house, not far from the lake."_

"_The lake? Do you know which lake that is?"_

"_Lake…Grandpa's …is moored."_

"_Lake Mead? Alison? Is it Lake Mead? I can't hear you. You need to speak up. Did you say Lake Mead?"_

Heather was frantically nodding her head in response. "Jerome's boat," she whispered to Brass.

"… _I recognise the … in the sky and…"_

"_Alison? You're breaking up again. Can you repeat what you just said?"_

"…_the men in the sky…Come quick…"_

"_Alison? Alison? Damn! If you can, keep the line open, okay? Keep the phone on! We're coming to get you. Stay with me."_

"That's it," said Archie. "Then she got cut off completely."

Looking tired, Brass sighed as he rubbed his face. "Dispatch tried calling her back but she couldn't get connected. Either Alison switched the phone off or it's out of charge."

The remaining four people stood there, stunned into their own introspective silence, busy mentally replaying and dissecting the message.

Nick was the first one to speak. "Archie? I think there was something after "I don't have long". Could you isolate and intensify that part?"

"Hum…let me see." Archie pressed a few keys to cue the recording to the right place before playing it back.

Alison's voice came on first. _"Yes… I'm … but I don't have long and…" _And then just before her tears intensified, they heard an unidentified muffled sound in the background.

"There!" Nick said. "Did you hear that?"

"It's not a noise," Sara said. "It's…another voice…a male voice maybe?"

Archie tapped on his keyboard, attempting to isolate the different tones of voice. Then he replayed that section again.

"What was that?" Sara asked. "Na-tha-lie?"

Nick shook his head. "No. It sounded more like Verity or-"

"Valerie," Heather whispered loudly. "And the male voice is McCormick's," she added, her words laced with a mixture of dread and undisguised loathing and anger. "I'm going to kill him, Jim. If I lay my hands on that sorry son of a bitch, he's going to wish he'd never set foot in my Dominion. I'm going to thrash him till he begs me for mercy and I can assure you he won't be getting any pleasure out-"

"Well, this only confirms McCormick's our man," Brass interrupted with a sigh. "Archie, can you compare his voice to that of the phone message Heather received?"

"Sure."

"What about a location?" Sara asked the A/V tech. "Could you trace Grissom's phone to a specific area?"

Archie nodded, clearing his throat a little uncomfortably while tapping on the keyboard. A map of the area north-east of Boulder city and west of the lower side of Lake Mead toward Hemenway Harbor appeared. "The best I've been able to do is narrow the call down to that zone," he said pointing to a circled area on the map. "It sort of tallies with what Alison says-"

"It's still too wide a search area though," said Sara, with a shake of the head. "We're talking several square miles here." She sighed. "What do you think she meant by men in the sky?" She turned enquiringly toward Nick and recognised the deep-etched frown on his face as he studied the map on the screen. "Nick? What are you thinking?"

"Huh?" The CSI refocused his attention before turning to address Brass specifically. "Remember the case of the paraglider that fell out of the sky?"

Brass shook his head, silently asking 'should I?' "Refresh me."

"La lluvia de pesces? Man falls out of the sky, lands on the sidewalk, found by a couple of skater boys? Altimeter tampered with?"

Brass nodded with a sceptical frown.

"Well," Nick shrugged a little self-consciously, "right after that case, I took up paragliding, you know? in my free time, a way to wind down…Anyway. Me and my buddies, on a clear day, with just the right climatic conditions we like to fly just there," he said pointing meaningfully to a spot just north of the circled area on the map. "We get the best views of Lake Mead from there. Go too far and you lose the thermals. It's a long shot but-"

"No, it's something," Sara said. "I say we concentrate our search there."

"The area's still too wide for me to get a search warrant though," intoned Brass.

"We can do door to door until we find McCormick and the house he's keeping them in," Sara retorted.

"But if McCormick doesn't answer the door we're none the wiser; we have no idea who is accomplice is or looks like, well apart from the fact that she _might_ be called _Valerie_," Brass said. "I can't just go pounding on every door and search every house in that neighbourhood, Sara. It's just not possible."

"Maybe Catherine's had some luck as regards IDing the accomplice," Nick added. "Mandy's running the prints she collected from McCormick's house. Maybe this _Valerie_'s in the system."

"I'll go," Heather said. "I'll go door to door. I'll ask to speak to Stephen. I'll go to him."

"I can't let you do that," Brass replied. "I can't let you walk into the wolf's mouth. It's too dangerous. Besides, you're a civilian, it just wouldn't work."

"Jim, there's no other way," Heather said with confidence. "You've done all you can here. You can fit me with a wire or a video link or whatever it is you guys use," she said, looking at Archie while she talked. The latter shrugged, nodding his head in response. "But I'm doing this."

"I think it could work," Sara said after some consideration. "McCormick will find it hard to resist the lure."

"It's out of the question," Brass said. "This isn't the Cagney and Lacey show!"

"I'd do it," Sara continued with her train of thoughts as though Brass hadn't spoken, "but I don't think he'd fall for the bait."

"I agree," Heather concurred. "McCormick's a narcissist predator who relishes the prospect of a good chase preferably involving pain. And he's been after me all this time. I know exactly which buttons to push to get him to crawl out of his hole."

"No, no, no. We'll find another way," Brass said curtly as he shook his head, expecting it to be the final word on the matter.

"Not in time," Sara sighed. She narrowed her eyes and abruptly turned round to look at the captain in the eye. "Okay then, let's hear it! What better plan can you come up with, huh?"

"This is madness," the police captain muttered trying to curb his rising temper. "We don't even know we're in the right area and if we are, all it'll do is play right into his hands. It'll never work!"

"We can't just sit back and wait while they…" Sara was shaking her head when suddenly she stopped as she realised the reason behind Brass's hesitation. She stared at him for a moment too long before throwing him a small disappointed smile. "Oh, I get it. I know what this is about. I've never known you to be action-shy like this before, Jim. Are you sure your reluctance isn't a front for something else?" she asked looking pointedly from Brass to Heather, leaving no doubt as to the significance of her words. "Because I can't think of a single valid reason why you wouldn't be willing to in there guns blazing-"

"That's not fair, Sara and it's uncalled for," Brass retorted gruffly. "Of course I want nothing more than find and rescue them, but not at the cost of lives. Not if it means putting Heather's life at risk or yours for that matter."

However angry she was, Sara could see that she was breaking the older man's resolve and delivered her coup de grâce. "You heard Alison yourself. He's killing him, Jim. How much longer do you think he can last? He's been in the hands of that maniac for two days. We know he's injured. Isn't his life costly enough?" she paused in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm even having to do this, Jim."

Brass glanced at Nick in a silent bid for back-up but Nick pulled a dubitative face, shrugging. "I think we're only going to have one shot at this."

Seeing Brass hesitate, Heather told him, "I don't know why we're even having this discussion. I'm not one of you. I'm not in law enforcement; I don't have to abide by _your_ rules and follow _your_ orders or protocols. Besides I wouldn't even be breaking the law. Time's running out, Jim; time we don't have. I'm not changing my mind. Either I do this with police back up-"

"Or?" asked Brass, disgruntled by Heather's ultimatum.

"Or I'll do it on my own," Heather finished with determination. "My life won't be worth living if Ali dies – or Grissom for that matter – especially if I could have done something to prevent it."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: I feel bad for Brass here and the way I've portrayed him in this chapter but in the end, he'll come good, I hope. I'm amazed at all the positive and wonderful and encouraging reviews for the last few chapters and I thank you all for it. Your support means a lot. Thank you. :-)

Now, I know I said I'd post on Friday but it's almost Friday here in the UK and it's already friday in Australia so...I hope you enjoyed chapter 36!


	37. Chapter 37

"Heather? Look at me!" Brass instructed as she was being fitted with a brooch with a tiny video camera with a link to the CSI truck. "If…" the police captain let out a long weary sigh, "if you find the target or if you think you're in any danger I want you to use the code word and we'll be there like a shot, okay?" he assured with a quick nod towards the back-up SWAT teams nearby.

Heather nodded, her attention distracted by the black and white and somewhat grainy close-up of Brass's chest that suddenly filled the monitor screen.

"Heather?"

Heather redirected her solemn gaze onto the detective.

Brass sighed, adding, "Please, don't go and play the hero. Leave that to me; it's what I do."

Heather smiled tightly. "Very well, Captain. I'll call 'Jim' if I need you."

"_When_ you need me," he amended very quietly with a small shy smile as he brushed away a strand of hair that had gathered in the corner of her mouth.

* * *

She had been at it for close to a couple of hours now; walking down streets, knocking on doors, introducing herself, asking for McCormick. So far, without results. Every single time she was met with shakes of the head or shrugs – that is if she even got a reply. It was late morning after all and some people were at work or just simply out.

Yet this was their best chance – their only chance – at getting McCormick and she wouldn't allow herself to feel dispirited. Reaching the end of yet another street, she strode purposely to the next double-story house, a mirror image of its neighbour and knocked on the door, expecting to be yet again disappointed. Soon they would be running out of houses.

On hearing movement behind the door coupled with the scraping of the burglar chain as it was removed Heather plastered on her face the well-practised but fake smile that was beginning to crack her lips, once more ready to introduce herself.

"Good, you're here. That was quick!" the woman said without looking up as she opened the door. "The bags are by the stairs. You need to move quickly. We haven't got long."

Dropping her smile, Heather flinched in shock as she recognised the woman who had opened the door. "You?" she whispered. "It was you all along? I don't understand."

Heather was shaking her head in bewilderment when Valerie realised her mistake and tried to get rid of her intruder by quickly shutting the door in her face. Heather reacted just as rapidly and managed to stick out her foot and jam it between the door and the frame just in time.

"W-what are you doing here?" she continued, her voice loud and full of hatred. "I thought you were in jail…I thought…" Heather began to ramble but soon refocused. "Where is she? What have you done to my grand-daughter?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Valerie replied unconvincingly before pushing the door as hard as she could on Heather's foot as she struggled to shut it.

* * *

"What's happening? Jim? Who's this woman?" Sara asked as she watched the ten-second events unfold on the TV screen from inside the truck. "Heather seems to know her. Jim?"

"Why don't you women ever do as I tell them?" Brass muttered while searching for his radio on the cluttered truck seat. "Damn it! Sara, meet Chloe Samms," he said quickly. "Except the real Chloe Samms died in jail six months ago. Unless she reincarnated into herself I'm stumped." While talking, Brass had brought the radio up to his mouth. "This is Captain Brass, unit two? You stand low for now. Unit one, you take the back of the building but stay covert until I give the order. Units three and five? We're going in. Now!" He then made his way out of the truck while tightening the Velcro straps of his bulletproof jacket, exclaiming, "Sara, tell the paramedics to stand by; the net's closing in."

Meanwhile, Heather was still trying to force her way in. "Alison? It's me, sweetheart. It's mama. I'm coming to get you," she shouted toward the bowels of the house as she finally succeeded in overpowering Valerie with no thoughts to her own safety.

"Noooo," Valerie screamed, holding back a hysterical Heather by the arm. "Madison! Hide!"

Brass had just enough time to stop the Taurus and run to the front door to put a stop to Heather and Valerie's ugly fight. "Captain Brass, Las Vegas PD," he said slightly breathlessly, flashing his badge with one hand, gun drawn in the other. "Valerie?" he inquired as he separated the two sparring women. He placed his hand across Heather's body to prevent her from entering the house further and instructed an officer with a nod of his head to make her step back.

Valerie looked toward the captain in confusion and released her hold on Heather.

Brass took in the battered face Valerie hadn't quite managed to conceal under the thick layer of foundation and patchy scalp as he guided her out by the elbow, saying, "Can you step out of the house please? We have reason to suspect you're holding Alison Kessler and Gil Grissom prisoners on these premises." He added, "Is McCormick in the house with you?"

Valerie hung her head low bringing her arms up to hug herself. The sleeve of her sweater rose to uncover a badly bruised forearm, which Valerie quickly pulled down self-consciously, while never uttering a single word.

"If that's the way you want to play it. You're only making matters worse for yourself. It would work in your favour if you fully cooperated with the police," Brass said. "Is McCormick in there?" he demanded to know, his patience quickly waning.

Valerie remained silent.

"You want to end up like your sister, is that it?" Brass snapped, frustrated with her lack of reaction. He sighed, turning toward the house. "McCormick?" he yelled. "This is Captain Brass from the LVPD. We have a warrant for your arrest for the kidnappings and unlawful detention of Alison Kessler and Gil Grissom. Your time's up; come out your hands up in the air."

Brass waited a beat – in vain – before turning towards Valerie when movement to his left caught his attention. He gave a sideways glanced and noticed Sara rushing toward Valerie and the house. He moved to intercept her before she could get a hold of Valerie herself.

"What about Grissom? Is he in there?" Sara shouted, as she was being kept back by Brass.

But Valerie didn't even look up to acknowledge Sara.

"Goddamn it, Sara!" Brass muttered. "Let me do my job. Let me handle this."

Realising that he would soon struggle to keep both women from storming the house themselves, he instructed, "Mitch, stay with the suspect while we search the house. Sara, I _forbid_ you from entering the building. Do you hear me? You too, Heather! Both of you move back. In fact I want both of you to stand over there," he said pointing, "_behind_ the need to leave us room to do our job."

Shaking, Heather nodded and took a couple of steps back. Sara hesitated but relenting, followed suit. Met with Brass's glare they both begrudgingly moved to stand behind the tape.

Brass gave a nod of the head to the SWAT officers to alert them to the fact that it was time to go in. He reached into his pocket for the radio and instructed the officers at the back of the house. He then led the way inside the entrance hall. In one sweeping glance, he noticed the packed bags at the bottom of the stairs suggesting that they only had just made it in the nick of time but most importantly the tacky-looking dark crimson drops trailing down the stairs contrasting sharply with the light-brown wood floor. He motioned those to the officers headed upstairs while he ventured forward to search the ground floor.

Brass scanned the large room ahead – the living room – tidy, clean and empty. He then checked the first door on the left; it was closed but the bolt fitted on the outside was pulled back. He turned the handle, nudged it open with his shoulder while giving a meaningful look at the officer providing cover. He stepped into the kitchen that led to a laundry room. "Clear!"

He then continued on down the corridor, stepping over what was left of Grissom's cell phone. He then checked the downstairs bathroom before reaching another closed door. This time though, the bolt was tightly shut. Brass slid it back as quietly as he could but when he tried the handle the door was locked.

_McCormick? Grissom? Or Alison? Take your pick, Jimmy boy. Two out of three aren't bad odds._

He gestured with his gun to his officer to provide him with cover. Face pinched into a scowl, wondering what or who he would find on the other side – if anyone – Brass took a couple of steps back and threw the whole weight of his body at the door, shoulder first as he attempted to batter it down. He did it once, then a second time and at the third go, the door yielded.

As the lock suddenly gave way, Brass found himself thrust into the room with the momentum. At first glance, the room was empty. He was checking under the bed when he thought he heard a whimpering sound coming from what looked like a floor to ceiling built-in wardrobe. He nodded and pointed his finding to his men before carefully sliding the door back, his face softening a little on finding Alison cowering in the corner, clutching a doll, with her legs brought up tightly to her chest, quietly sobbing. Her face was patchy red streaked with tears, her eyes filled with shock, fear and horror and Brass let out a sigh of relief as he rubbed his sore shoulder. On first impression the little girl looked unharmed but he could see in the haunted gaze she threw him that she had lived through a terrible ordeal and only time would tell what psychological damage had been done.

Brass motioned for his fellow officers to carry on with the search while he stayed with Alison. "Hey," he soothed, taking a couple of tentative steps nearer. He put his gun away, crouched down and extended his hand out toward the little girl. "Alison?" he smiled. "My name's Jim. Don't be scared; you're safe now. I've got you. I'm the Police. You called me, remember? There's someone out there who's going to be so happy to see you. She's been so worried about you-"

Brass was interrupted when Heather's frantic calls filled the house. The word had obviously filtered out. "Alison? Alison?"

The little girl seemed to react to Heather's voice but panic-stricken, she made no move to stand or utter a reply.

His hand still outstretched, Brass smiled as he tried to reassure her. "It's all right. Heather- your mama's outside, waiting for you. Can I take you to her?"

Still frightened, Alison tearfully shook her head no.

Brass stepped closer and reached out for the little girl who pulled away, folding in on herself.

"It's okay," he said with a smile. "I understand. Do you want me to go and get her?"

Alison nodded a little, unsure whether Brass could be trusted or not.

Brass nodded too, whispering, "You stay where you are; I'm coming right back." He stood up and slowly walked backwards out of the room and into the corridor. He was met by the SWAT officers who had by then cleared the entire house and he instructed one of them to go and fetch Heather. To the officers who had cleared the first floor, he asked, "Any signs of Grissom?"

One of the officers hesitated to respond and looked to his feet and the other one didn't have time before Brass barked, "Goddamn it! Any signs of Grissom up there?"

The first officer inhaled deeply before grimly replying. "No Captain. We found a…room upstairs." When the officer saw Brass's harsh stare, he cleared his throat before explaining, "Plenty of evidence that someone injured was kept against their will there but no, we didn't find him."

"There must be another room you missed," Brass countered with little hope. "Did you check the attic? A basement? The garage? The yard?"

"We searched everywhere. Although, well…hum… sorry Captain, but with all due respect…" Brass nodded sharply, indicating it was fine for the officer to speak his mind. "Well, the place stank so bad, we felt we were checking for a dead body rather than-"

When he noticed Heather hovering by the front door, hesitating to come in, Brass made a silent gesture for the officer to keep quiet before dismissing them. "Heather?" he said softly as he moved toward her. "We got her. She looks fine. Come with me. She's over there in that room. She wouldn't come willingly and I didn't want to cause her more distress so I thought it best if you came to get her before the paramedics check her over."

Heather let out the breath she had been holding. "What about Grissom?"

Brass shook his head, smiling a little uncomfortably. Without thinking, he lifted his hand to brush an eyelash away from her face. Surprised by Brass's gesture, Heather flinched a little before relaxing under his remarkably soft touch and smiled her thanks when he said, "She's waiting for you."

Brass placed his hand in the small of her back and guided her down the corridor towards her awaiting grand-daughter. Reaching the room, she stopped and turned round with a frown.

"In the closet," Brass mouthed. "I'll send in the paramedics."

Heather only paused for a second, just enough time to offer Brass a small wobbly grateful smile. Brass nodded and squeezed her shoulder affectionately before she rushed in and kneeled down in the wardrobe to gather her grand-daughter into a tight hug. "Oh darling!" she cried into the little girl's hair, crushing her to herself.

Brass left Heather to look after Alison while he made his way upstairs, glad to see that for once Sara had kept to her word and had stayed outside. However it didn't take him long to realise that sadly she hadn't as he soon noticed the lone figure standing transfixed at an open door.

The stench had hit her with full force as soon as she had rounded the corner up the stairs. She had recoiled and brought her hand over her mouth and nose to stop herself from gagging at the acrid smell of blood, urine and faeces as her mind cruelly leapt back to the last time she had smelled death. Almost a year ago in Costa Rica.

_No…_

She had hesitated unsure whether she could live through that ordeal again. She had no choice. She had made herself walk the few steps to the door the officers had left wide open and that was where Brass had found her. Taking her by the shoulders, in less than a second he took in the sight that had her spellbound: in the foreground, the bloodied and soiled sheets covered with what he could only guess was urine and excrement; the metal-framed bed with the leather restraints, as well as the rest of the S&M décor and paraphernalia, a replica of the room Heather used to have when her house was still known as the Dominion. He noticed the bloody baseball bat, lying discarded on the floor and the whip too, but most importantly all of his clothes, covered in dried blood mixed with dirt and torn to shreds, also discarded in a heap in the corner along with his shoes and wallet.

He shook his head at her in bewilderment and although he could tell she was hurting, breaking apart, the horror of the scene before them more than she could cope with, she was just too stunned to cry. She just stood there in a frozen state of shock, staring into nothingness. "I'm sorry Sara," he whispered. You shouldn't be here. Please, go back outside. This isn't healthy." Faced with her catatonic silence and stillness, he added, "We're going to find him, Sara. Hold on to that. He must have known we were on our way and left in a hurry. They can't be far."

"What has he done to him, Jim? Sara uttered in a barely audible whisper. "How can he still be alive after…this?"

"He's strong, Sara and he's got a lot to live for."

Sara nodded as Brass took her by the shoulders and led her back downstairs and outside. He took a moment to survey the chaotic scene in the front yard before catching sight of Heather standing by the ambulance watching over Alison who was being checked over. The latter, feeling Brass's gaze on her, turned and narrowed her darkened gaze at him, cold eyes filled with rage and hatred that left him in no doubt as to their message as they pleaded, "Kill the bastard that did this to my grand-daughter. Kill him or I will."

Brass gave Heather a quick nod in return before heading toward the CSI team who were standing at the ready with their kit. He entrusted Sara to Greg and nodded his go-ahead for Catherine and Nick to go in and process the house. He then made his way toward Mitch who was guarding a handcuffed Valerie.

The officer said, "She still hasn't uttered a word."

Brass sighed. "There's no point keeping her here. We're going to take her back to PD and see whether the ride back loosens her tongue. If not, I'll crack her in interview."

Mitch nodded and gently manoeuvred Valerie round and under the crime scene tape toward his cruiser but stopped when he heard Sara's disbelieving desperate shout.

"Mitch? What are you doing? You can't take her away; she hasn't told us where Gil is yet." Having made her way over to them, Sara abruptly spun Valerie round by the shoulder so that the suspect had no choice but look Sara in the eye.

On seeing Sara up close for the first time, Valerie gasped audibly, her expression suddenly sad and sorrowful before quickly hanging her head, her gaze fixed on a spot by her feet.

A mixture of rage and heartbreaking desperation fuelling her words, Sara exclaimed with a casual gesture toward Valerie's injuries, "Look at the state of you! Did McCormick do that to you? Do you get off on the pain too? Is that it?" Sara only paused to throw her a look of pure hatred. "Why are you protecting him still? He doesn't care about you. Look around. He knew we were on our way and he bailed. He left you on your own to pick up the pieces. It's finished for you now. You're in for a long stretch-"

Sara's heartfelt words did nothing to rattle Valerie, who merely glanced up at the ex-CSI, casting her such a pitiful look that Sara's words caught in her throat.

"Come on," Brass said, putting his hands over Sara's shoulders. "Let's take her back to PD. We'll question her there. Catherine's searching the place with a fine tooth comb. She'll unearth some evidence-"

Sara shrugged Brass's hands off her, cutting him mid-sentence. "I don't want to go back to PD. I'm staying here." She turned to Valerie and repeated, her voice a trembling murmur. "It's all over for you now…it's too late. But please, help him. Help us find him. Gil is…my life. Please, tell me where he's taken him. Please. Do you know what it's like to lose someone you love, someone you love with all your heart? Gil's all I have-"

"Are you his wife?" Valerie whispered, talking for the first time.

"W-what?"

"Are you the one on the photo?"

Sara frowned in confusion.

"The one holding the baby?"

Bewildered, Sara looked at the woman for a moment trying to make sense of her words before it dawned on her what photo she was referring to. Tears pooling in her eyes, she slowly nodded her head. "His name's Noah. He's eight months old and he loves his daddy very much but unless we find him, he will never get to know him and…" She swallowed the tightness in her throat. "Gil is a good man. He's a kind man. He's a family man who loves his little boy more than anything and…" she had to pause then because she was losing it as she broke down and she began to weep, the soft, hopeless sound of someone sinking under the weight of despair.

"I had a baby once. A little girl. My Madison was taken from me too. She was all I had – apart from Chloe. You still have your son; treasure him."

"Come on," Brass said to Officer Mitchell. "That's enough; take her to PD."

Mitch opened the rear door and motioned the prisoner in. Valerie got in but at the last minute before Mitch had time to shut the door, she turned her head and looked back up at Sara. She watched her for a moment before averting her gaze to Brass.

She closed her eyes, whispering, "Look for Chloe; you'll find him there."

* * *

Tbc.


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: Before you go ahead and _enjoy _this next chapter, I'd like to take the opportunity to thank everyone for reading, taking the time to review and sending me encouraging messages all throughout this story. I'd also like to point out that you _can_ leave anonymous reviews if you wish. :-) They would make me tremendously happy! As do all the reviews BTW, as I'm sure you've come to realise. Your support is invaluable and greatly appreciated.

Okay, now onto chapter 38…I apologise for its length but I didn't have the heart to truncate it. Maybe I should have though…but sometimes it's best to just swallow the pill, isn't it?

* * *

"Chloe?" Sara frowned in bafflement and turned to Brass. "Her sister? I thought you said she was dead."

"She is," Brass replied equally as confused. He sighed, glaring at Valerie as he neared boiling point. "Come on, now! Enough with the riddles," he snapped. "If you don't tell us right now where Grissom is, I will personally oversee that you never, ever see the light of day again and that you are left to rot in a prison cell and die a slow death just as your sister did."

Unnerved by the detective's threat, Valerie merely glanced up at him shrugging her shoulders as though she couldn't care less about her fate. Brass let out a frustrated breath knowing that he was wasting his time. They would just have to work it out for themselves. Brass signalled with his head for Mitch to take the suspect away and turned to Sara

"Okay, okay," he told her, gathering his thoughts. "We'll find him without her help. He's got to be nearby. We've got an APB out on his truck so he's got to have avoided state roads or we'd have picked him up by now. Alison made the call three hours ago and judging by the state of the room, it'd have taken a while for McCormick to move Grissom out; that is if he realised _straightway _we were on his tail. And if Grissom was already dead, why move him? So let's think about this logically-"

Brass stopped theorising when he saw Vartann's small wave as the latter tried to catch his attention. Nodding his acknowledgement, he said, "Listen, Sara. Vartann's here. I'm going to brief him and then I'll take you to PD to interview Valerie. We could stand here guessing till we're blue in the face…" he gave a low throaty grunt, "we'll find a way to make her talk. I won't be long; hang tight."

Sara nodded distractingly at the captain's retreating form. She hadn't heard a single word of what he had told her, her mind in overdrive since Valerie had uttered those fateful words._ "Look for Chloe; you'll find him there."_

_Could McCormick have taken Grissom to Chloe's grave? _

"_We have a boat moored in the marina in Hemenway Harbor,"_ Heather's words echoed in her mind, interrupting her thought process. Hadn't Heather said that that was where she had seen McCormick six months previously?

_What if…_

Sara quickly scanned the front of the house in search of Brass who was nowhere to be seen. She glanced at her watch and sighed. _Every minutes counts._ She began pacing the spot of sidewalk near the captain's Taurus, giving worried impatient glances toward the house.

_What the hell is taking him so long?_

Decision made, she ran to Brass's Charger, let herself in before removing Heather's gun from the glove box, putting it on the passenger seat. She swiftly roared the engine to life before leaving with a squeal of tyres.

* * *

"Speak up! She won't hear you otherwise. I want her to be able to hear clearly."

Grissom opened his mouth to talk but no sound came. A tear appeared in the corner of his eye and he was powerless to make it disappear.

McCormick snorted in pleasure. "Louder! Don't you want her to know?"

Grissom closed his eyes, releasing the tear as he feebly shook his head no.

"Why? Are you ashamed?" McCormick tutted as he mimicked Grissom's pitiful headshake. "Bad, bad boy," he leered, "you've been a bad boy, a very bad boy, haven't you?" He picked up the picture of Sara and Noah and pointed meaningfully at the little boy. "_They_ need to know. _They_ need to be told the truth. They need to know what kind of despicable individual you are."

"Please, enough. I've had enough. Just…finish this," Grissom slurred weakly.

McCormick smiled, his smile turning into a small mocking laugh. "It won't be the same coming from me."

_True, _Grissom thought, swallowing painfully. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, eyelids drooping as heavy as lead. He cleared his throat a little and shakily began to recite almost inaudibly the words McCormick was verbally prompting, words that were being recorded onto a small tape recorder. "Forgive me, Sara, for I have sinned…"

"That's better, Gil. Continue."

Grissom's trembling was getting worse and his head was spinning uncontrollably. "I…I have betrayed my vows to you in the most unforgivable way…"

McCormick was silently mouthing the words, looking delighted as he suppressed a shiver of pleasure at the humiliation and mental torture he was inflicting on his prisoner. When he noticed Grissom falter, his head slowly lolling to the side, he prodded him in the ribs causing Grissom's eyes to snap open. Content he had once more Grissom's attention, he nodded his head toward the picture. Grinning, he formed his hand into a makeshift gun before winking as he pretended to pull the trigger.

"…when I spent the night at Heather's-"

"With – with _Lady_ Heather," amended McCormick.

"With Lady Heather." Grissom's words were no louder than a very low whisper by then. "Why kill me now? Why are-"

"Oh, too many why's, Grissom," McCormick interrupted impatiently with a casual wave of his hand before prompting, "I…"

At the end of the line, Grissom shook his head. No more.

"If you don't do it, I will. And more, a lot more. I'm sure it will be better received coming from you." McCormick glared at Grissom, his patience beginning to wane.

"I could never, never do this to her," murmured Grissom.

"It's only the truth though, isn't it?" McCormick said with an enquiring arch of his brow.

"No."

McCormick laughed mockingly. "You can deny all you want but I know what I saw." He paused before repeating his prompt. "I…"

Grissom swallowed thinking of his wife and son's well-being. Maybe by complying he was buying them and the police and the CSI's a little time. Time he desperately needed. But how could they find him in time now? He could feel the drug slowly flowing its way into his body and he knew his time had come and that he only had minutes left.

He closed his eyes, the emotional heartache caused by the lies he was made to confess to far worse than anything McCormick could inflict on him. "I won't do this," he murmured to McCormick. "I'd rather die now than…"

McCormick sighed in mock weariness. "Mr Grissom, I _am _disappointed. I thought their lives meant more to you. Have it your way. You'll only get what you deserve." He paused for an instant lost in his own thoughts as he turned the tape off. "I'll grant you one last wish, though, just like a death-row inmate awaiting _his_ lethal injection. You want to know why I'm doing this; why you? Why now?" McCormick gave Grissom a half-smirk. "You were never part of the original plan but when the opportunity presented itself, well, the pull was just too great," he shrugged, "I simply couldn't resist. You see, you destroyed _my_ life and took away the only person _I_ ever loved. Chloe was…everything." He chuckled in discomfort. "But that's all in the past. Now, I'll just have to make do with a little revenge. I'm going to kill you and then destroy her life – both their lives," he said with a nod to the picture.

While McCormick rambled on, spellbound by the sound of his own voice, Grissom had his eyes shut and was slowly drifting off as he began to lose consciousness.

Oblivious, McCormick picked up the recorder, removing the tape. "First, this will help me destroy all her certainties. Before I get even and take her life, she will question and doubt your love for her. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," quoted McCormick, smiling, pleased with himself. "How does that sound for retribution?" He snorted eager to put his plan in motion. "I had to bring my plans forward slightly since your _friends_ are now on their way but by the time they find the house. We'll be long gone. They won't get to you, here. Don't worry; I haven't forgotten about Heather, her time will come too but Alison needs a little more time to adjust. I am a patient man though and you can rest assured that what I have in mind for her is far, far worse."

Grissom's captor was still chuckling to himself when he realised he had once more lost his audience. "Grissom? Grissom?" he shouted, eliciting a slow grunt from his subject. He prodded him hard and slapped him on the face to bring him back until Grissom unconsciously half-opened his bleary eyes.

McCormick shook his head, sighing in disgust before turning to a nearby shelf where he picked up a small open cardboard box holding three syringes. He replaced the one empty syringe, the sodium thiopental he had injected Grissom with a couple of minutes previously. He then peered at the labels to select the second one. Happy he had the correct one, he tapped it adeptly with his finger before pushing the plunger down a little in order to release the trapped air bubble. He then carefully inserted the needle into the cannula in Grissom's arm.

McCormick bent down close to Grissom's face, making eye contact and smiled at him one last time as he bid, "Sweet dreams, Mr Grissom."

Strangely at peace, lulled by the gently swaying of the boat, Grissom let his eyes drift shut again, prepared for what was coming. Snapshots of Sara flashed through his mind and he didn't have to search long to find the one he was looking for. For there she was, grinning at him, a bee keeper's hat on and his expression relaxed into a wistful smile as he took her in one last time: the softness of her features, the fire in her beautiful bright eyes, the magical enchantment of her captivating smile and the strands of unruly brown hair coming loose underneath. He could smell the musky smell and taste the saltiness of her skin; hear the sound of her contagious laughter and her voice as she whispered his name.

His heart full to the brim with the love and joy they had shared during their time together, he sighed in abandon as he whispered hers…Sara.

_My darling Sara,_

_I know you came back for me; I know you're close, I can feel it. _

_Yesterday in my dreams of you, I promised you I would never give up and I'm not. But my body is. I'm at breaking point and I'm tired and weak and scared. So damn scared. _

_I'm not scared for me, oh no, but for you and Noah and what will happen when I'm gone. McCormick's words fill me with dread because I know you're almost here and although part of me is selfishly praying that you can reach me in time, I can't begin to imagine what this evil, twisted, sick bastard will do to you then and that scares the hell out of me._

_Please, Sara, I need you…no, I want you, I beg you to do one last thing for me. _

_Don't try to save me. Leave me. Turn around. Please, leave me behind. I know you said you would never do that but I beg you; you must. Your life is so much more important than mine. Put Noah first. Please, Sara, if it's the last thing you ever do for me. Think of our son and put him first_.

_Always remember I'll forever be with you and Noah, watching over you both. You'll always be a part of me. Always. _

_I'm sorry we didn't get to do all the things we talked about – we did make it back to the Rainforest one last time though, didn't we? – for sadly, today is my day._

_I remember telling you once that before I died I wanted to be able to say goodbye to the people I love. So there it is. _

_Goodbye, my love. Be strong._

_I love you and Noah. Always._

* * *

Sara stopped the Dodge with a screech of tyres on the gravel and taking the gun, rushed out, leaving the driver's door open as she scanned the Marina ahead. _Where do I start?_ she thought as she tucked the Ruger in the waistband of her pants before starting running toward the harbour master's office.

She tried the glass door. It was shut and she kicked it in frustration. She checked her watch and the opening times before cupping her hands to the plate glass, hoping against all odds for a small miracle. Catching sight of movement behind the counter, she banged her fists on the glass to get the man's attention. Startled, he looked up, frowning before giving her a slow shake of the head pointing at his watch. Close to tears, Sara tilted her head to the side, mouthing 'please' and the man must have picked up on her distress because he got up, picking up his keys.

"My name is Sara Sidle," she said a little breathlessly as soon as the man had unlocked the door, pushing it open. "I'm with the Las Vegas crime lab. I'm looking for Stephen McCormick. Do you know him?"

"Sure, I do," the man answered calmly as though he had all the time in the world. "I know most of the people who moor their boats round here. Well, it's not _his_, strictly speaking but he comes to these parts often…she's truly beautiful-"

_She?_ "Who is?"

"Chloe," he clarified before adding, "The yacht; Chloe. She's a real beauty."

_I knew it!_ "Have you seen him today?"

"I don't know, Lady. Folks round here come and go. This time of year though, either they're already out on the lake by now or they're not coming."

"Where can I find it?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"The boat; the Chloe. Where can I find it?"

"She's over there," the man said pointing toward a spot at the other side of the marina. "Bay C." Sara turned and peered in the distance, frowning. There were tens and tens of boats all sizes moored alongside one another. "See that tall mast over there, in the distance, to your two o'clock? The tallest one? Well, that's her."

At last she caught sight of the boat and smiled, nodding. She paused for an instant to mull the situation over. Her decision made, she turned to the harbour master and said, "Please, call the Las Vegas Police. Ask for Captain Brass. Tell them it's regarding McCormick. It's very important. Please, do it!"

Startled by the urgency in Sara's voice, the man frowned but shrugged "Sure". "What did you say your name was again?"

"Sara Si-Grissom. Sara Grissom. Ask to talk to Captain Brass. Please, hurry."

Sara sprinted off toward "Chloe", running hell for leather. As she got nearer, she slowed and reached for the pistol under her jacket. She hit the clip release button, checked the magazine – fully loaded – and then smacked it back into place. She looked around; the decks were deserted and some of the berths were empty. She rounded the corner and stepped onto the wooden pontoon the Chloe was moored on.

She stopped to catch her breath and check her surroundings. The pontoons and boats all around her seemed deserted. All appeared calm. Too calm. A cool wind was blowing off the lake and she tucked her hair back behind her ears. The sky was a murky grey, the sun hidden behind a covering of dark clouds reflected over the choppy waves of the water. She turned round, scanning the shore and that was when she noticed the black Mitsubishi truck parked further away on the opposite side.

_I knew it! Calm, Sara, keep calm or you're going to make a mistake. _

She briefly wondered whether she should wait for Brass to arrive but decided against it. She knew she couldn't afford to waste time, that she was lucky the boat was still moored and not out. Her weapon in hand, she carefully and quietly strode toward the gently bobbing boat. It too appeared unoccupied and her heart in her mouth, she stepped onto the deck as carefully as she could, making sure to distribute her weight as evenly as possible.

She did a quick casual scan of the deck and noticed that the yacht's storage box lay open missing some tools. Someone was in. She couldn't otherwise detect any sound or movement coming from inside the cabin.

How was she going to play this? She figured she could take advantage of the element of surprise; she had a gun after all. She would have to use it in order to get the better of McCormick. She knew that was a possibility. But did she have a choice? Of course, she could wait for Brass and the cavalry to arrive but how long was _that_ going to take?

_Would it be too late for Gil then?_

Without a thought to her safety, she put her hand on the handle of the door leading to the cabin below and was about to turn it when she felt resistance. Her heart took a rhythm of its own and she jumped back, looking for a hiding place.

Too late.

There, mere inches in front of her, stood a man she recognised as McCormick from the blurry print-out. He looked as startled and confused as she did. Looking at the man in the eye, she raised her gun to his face before slowly pulling the slide back and then releasing it.

Sara wasn't going to take any chances and was ready. She'd do what it'd take and fight to the end, even if it meant killing the bastard.

McCormick's face unexpectedly lit up, wide eyes shining with undisguised glee in anticipation of what was to come. He laughed. "Oh! This gets even better. Mrs Grissom – Sara," he said bowing his head. "You don't mind my calling you Sara, do you? I feel like I've known you forever." His smile widened, reaching his eyes. "Did you like my gift to you? Oh, if the man's eyes could speak! I'm quite proud of myself really." He pursed his lips appreciatively.

Unnerved by the man's cool reaction to being held at gunpoint, Sara's hand began to shake and she brought her other hand up, tightening her hold of the gun with it. "Don't move! Don't you dare fucking move! Put your hands up where I can see them! DO IT!"

McCormick bowed his head again, slowly complying.

"Where's Gil? Is he in there? What have done with him?"

"A little experimentation."

"What did you inject him with?"

"Very good, Sara," McCormick granted. "My small subterfuge didn't fool you, I see." He frowned, tilting his head to the side meditatively and then he nodded slowly in realisation. "I see where I know you from now. The picture doesn't do you justice. You're one of them, aren't you?"

Sara frowned in bafflement. "Tell me where he is."

"What? And miss the pleasure of watching your face when you realise you're powerless to save him?" He shook his head in the negative. "No, no. He took away the love of my life and now I'll take his."

Sara wanted to shoot him. Oh, there was nothing she wanted more at that moment than kill the smug bastard. Damn the consequences. She was about to pull the trigger when she heard a soft grunt and whimper coming from the cabin below and her gaze flitted toward the sound.

_Gil! Hold on; I'm here. I've got you._

McCormick used Sara's infinitesimal distraction to his advantage and swiftly lowered his right hand to the muzzle of the gun, snatching it before attempting to twist it out of Sara's hand. He then grabbed her by the arm, jerking her toward him.

Furious at her stupidity, Sara held on the pistol with all her strength and tried to aim it back towards her attacker, intent on getting a shot but he was so much stronger than her that she was left fighting just to keep a hold of it. He used his body as leverage and Sara had no choice but to let go, the Ruger spinning off onto the deck.

Sara listened but didn't hear it land and used the distraction of the gun to stamp on McCormick's foot hard to free herself from his grasp. He stumbled backward but managed to catch himself before he hit the ground.

Sara staggered, her knees buckling but she put her hand out onto a side railing, catching her breath. She spotted the gun and tried to scramble for it but McCormick came back at her, catching her by the arm, yanking her away in the opposite direction.

Somehow, in the scuffle McCormick lost his balance and toppled forward toward her.

Adrenaline pumping through her like hell and her distant weaponless defence training kicking in, Sara brought her right knee up to meet his face not fully managing to make contact and yet she heard a satisfying popping sound which she hoped was McCormick's nose. Sure enough, blood poured down his face. Completely gob-smacked by the turn the fight had taken, McCormick lifted a tentative hand to his nose and with incredulous eyes looked at Sara who was bent in half, panting.

Rage filled his features; his eyes widened in frenzy, blue veins appeared on his forehead and Sara knew he was about to renew his attack and more. Unable to catch her breath, she suddenly doubted her ability to sustain this onslaught for much longer and she had a moment of uncertainty, torn between rushing to her husband's side and attempting to finish off her crazed attacker.

Again, McCormick took advantage of Sara's split second indecision and came after her, grunting, taking her waist-high in a flying tackle as though possessed by an almightyforce. Sara fell heavily backward onto the open storage box dragging him on top of her. The adrenaline coursing through her freed her momentarily of any feeling of pain and she wasn't aware of the injuries she was sustaining. She could feel something hard beneath her; she wriggled her arm, reaching for the metal object which she then grabbed before hitting him with all her remaining strength. She only succeeded in striking him in the upper arm, not causing enough damage to incapacitate him but with sufficient force to make him loosen his grip on her. Enraged by her tenacity and pugnacity, he came back at her with a vengeance and twisted the hammer out of her hand.

She was gasping for breath and so was he. Still half-lying against the storage box she kicked him hard in the stomach and he fell backwards. She swiftly flipped over onto her hands and knees onto the deck and scrambled on all fours for the gun. Meanwhile, McCormick used the railing to push himself up and took a second to catch his breath, bringing his hand up to his nose to feel for the blood still pouring. But when he caught sight of the gun Sara was crawling for, he smiled again in excitement, as he scurried for it too. Sara managed to get her hand onto the gun first but coming from behind, McCormick stepped onto Sara's hand, pressing hard.

She cried out in agony and for the first time tears of frustration, of rage and of helplessness filled her eyes.

She was beaten.

McCormick bent down and lifted his foot enough to be able to pick the gun up out of her hand. Training it on the back of Sara's head, he said between heavy breaths, "Get up! Get up and turn around. The fight's over. I win."

Defeated, Sara quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and grimacing, she gingerly pushed herself up. She found McCormick staring, a wicked smirk on his face.

He gave her a quick deferential bow of the head. "I give it to you; you don't give up. I knew he liked his women feisty – oh! I know all about Heather but you? I'd never have though you'd give me so much pleasure." He shrugged idly. "You know? I've never killed before," he sneered with anticipation, almost getting aroused at the prospect. "Unless…" he paused, thoughtful. "Of course, Grissom _may_ have been my first," he said, raising the gun to Sara's face.

In turn, Sara squared up her shoulders, straightening up bravely and proudly, and on the outside staring back at him defiantly. On the inside, however, she was screaming, hopelessly pleading, silently begging for the nightmare to stop. Inside, she was breaking up into tiny little pieces. _I'm so sorry, Gil. I tried, I really did but he was stronger and I couldn't do it. I couldn't save you. I'm sorry. _

Panting heavily, she continued to stare back, meeting her aggressor straight in the eye, on the surface unfazed, knowing there was nothing more she could do. She would not give that bastard the satisfaction of thinking that he had gotten to her, that he had beaten her – beaten them. When she noticed McCormick's fingers curl tighter around the trigger, ready to pull it, she looked beyond his shoulder toward the cabin,whispering, "I'll always love you, Gil. I…"

A single shot rang out.

* * *

Tbc.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: Many, many thanks to Jean for the drastic haircut. I really hope this makes the cut. See, I can do humour too, even if badly. Without her, I'd still be trying to give Brass a voice or find my way into his head and unfortunately, I'm still looking for the light switch. Okay, here goes…

_

* * *

_

_A minute and a half. Tops. Could have been less time, but it didn't matter because time moved so fucking slow._

_I remember clearly all the little details. Like the horror I saw as a Marine or the time Willie Cutler pointed that goddamn gun at me in that hotel room. And yet I didn't see what was staring me in the face. Go figure._

_The situation with Cutler made me question whether I was worth a damn as a detective. And yet I'm doing it again. Reckless. Crazy. Stupid. And I don't know if I'm talking about Sara here or me. _

_How the hell could I not know that Sara wouldn't do it? _

_Either I wasn't the detective I thought I was or I got too caught up in taking care of one friend to look out for the other. Heather needed me but Sara needed me more and so did Grissom and I failed them both. _

_When that call came from dispatch, I yelled for backup, jumped in my cruiser and drove with one hand on the wheel and the other balled up in a fist bashing on the dash. I got to the marina and the harbour master was frantically pointing me to the yacht. I had my gun ready and I was running for my life._

_No. For her life. And his life._

_Then I saw her on that deck and in my head I was screaming at her for doing this alone and screaming at me because it should have been me on that deck. Not her._

_I had them both in my sights. But McCormick had Sara in his sights, too. He had his gun inches from her face and I was fifty yards or so away. And I kept on running, eyes fixed on them._

_Her back was to me, but I could tell from her stance, shoulders squared up, proud chin raised, that Sara was bravely staring him down, ready to take the fall. And she was panting. And by the look of McCormick's beaten face, she had given it her all. _

_And yet, that crazy son-of-a-bitch McCormick was grinning staring at Sara like he had nothing to lose._

_I slowed my running to a jog and eventually stopped. I knew I'd only have one shot at it but the angle was all wrong. And then, I heard her say those words again. Never get to say goodbye. Tell him she loves him one last time. _

_Shit. Don't you fuck this up Brass. _

_I positioned myself as best I could and looking through the wall of masts bobbling up and down on the water, I aimed my gun toward McCormick. All my training told me to identify myself._

_The hell with procedure. _

_I aimed for his head and saw his fingers curling around the trigger. I took my shot. I heard two. _

_But when I got to the deck I was alone._

_I heard the shots, but not the splashing sound of bodies falling into the water._

_

* * *

_

"Oh, Jesus…Sa-ra!" Brass called leaning overboard to scan the water, hoping to see McCormick's body floating there and not his friend's. All he could see was a reddish hue in the murky rippling water. "SA-RA!" he yelled with all his might as he peered toward the vast expanse of the lake.

Rage fuelling him, he turned toward the door leading to the cabin, gun drawn and was about to yell for McCormick to surrender and come out with his hands up in the air when he heard the sweetest sound.

"In here," a small tearful voice panted back. "Jim, I'm all right; I'm in here. Get the paramedics, quick!"

Brass felt his pockets for his radio but in his haste he had left it in the car. _Shit!_ He turned round and noticed the uniformed officers rushing in his wake. "Get the medics here quick. Call for a Medivac. And look out for McCormick," he shouted before rushing inside the cabin.

"Where's McCor-" Stopping dead in his tracks, he gasped as he took in the scene; her back turned to him Sara was bent over Grissom's seemingly lifeless body, her left hand pinching the bridge of his nose while her other hand was gingerly cupping his chin as she attempted to blow some air into his lungs.

"Jesus, Gil, what has he done to you?" the detective muttered, stunned as he brought his left hand to his face, rubbing his temples as though the gesture could massage away the loud drumming in his head.

"Jim," Sara panted, turning her face toward the detective, eyes streaming with tears. "He's stopped breathing. He's not breathing! I felt a faint pulse but he's not breathing!"

Brass tilted his head to the side pained at the sight of Sara. Her lip was split and swollen, her nose was seeping blood, her left eye was partially closed, red and puffy and her breathing was worryingly slow and laboured.

Brass shook his head, attempting to clear his head. "Have you checked for an obstruction? Could he have swallowed his tongue?" he quickly asked before catching a glance of the bloodstain growing larger on Sara's top and blood trickling down her arm. "Sara, you're hit! Move over. I'll do this."

But Sara was so full up with adrenaline and so intent in her desperate life-saving efforts of Grissom that she hardly felt the pain from her injuries. "No, Jim. I've got him. I've got you," she said to Grissom in a whisper between heavy breaths as she carefully slid her finger into his mouth. "I don't think it's an obstruction." She closed her eyes, fighting her mounting nausea before trying a couple more rescue breaths but Grissom's broken jaw made them very ineffectual as she didn't dare move his head lest she subjected him to any more pain. "Just…untie him please and get him some help."

"They're already on their way," he stated glumly while his shaky fingers untied the knots of the rope binding his friend's wrists and ankles to the cot; he couldn't help noticing the older crusty ligature marks there and the fresh blood seeping through the crude dressing on Grissom's thigh. Brass let out a long weary sigh. "Just hold on, buddy. We got help coming."

Sara moved her fingers to Grissom's throat. "Oh, no!" she cried out in a panic. "There isn't a pulse, Jim, I can't feel a heartbeat. What do we do?"

But before Brass had time to react Sara had both palms pressed together over Grissom's chest as she frantically began CPR.

"Just watch his ribs, they don't look so good," Brass said before shaking his head at the crassness of his comment.

"Don't do this to me; do you hear me, Grissom?" Sara shouted as she continued with the chest compressions. "Don't you give up on me now!" and then she carried on talking quietly to Grissom and Brass could do nothing but witness Sara's heart break. "I got here too late. I…I was too late. I'm sorry."

Her tears were falling fast, big fat drops splashing down and mixing with the dried blood on Grissom's skin. "Gil? Hang in there! Please, you've got to help me out! I can't do this on my own!" she cried in frustration too weak to carry on with her resuscitation efforts. "What's taking the fucking paramedics so long?"

Brass popped his head out of the cabin to look out for the EMT's. "They're here now, Sara."

Sara didn't seem to hear what Brass had told her as she quickly moved to Grissom's mouth and throat. She was checking for a pulse when she heard Brass exit the small sleeping cabin to make room for the two paramedics hauling their heavy trauma kits as well as a basket stretcher. As they rushed in the younger-looking paramedic gasped, her eyes wide at the sight of Grissom and his injuries.

The second EMT stepped in front of his colleague, taking charge. "Ma'am, you need to move now," he said to Sara as he quickly unpacked his bag, looking for his stethoscope and small torchlight. "We need to assess his condition." He bent down low to Grissom's ear. "Sir? Sir, can you hear me?" he asked, noticing the broken jaw and swollen eye where Grissom had been punched almost forty-eight hours previously. He carefully opened Grissom's eyes, shining his light to check for a reaction. "My name's Doug," he told him. "I'm going to check you over, all right?"

Sara hesitated to move. Brass cleared his throat and said, "I'm Captain Brass, LVPD. I got my men to radio for a Medivac to come. It shouldn't take long."

The paramedic nodded to Brass and then turned to Sara. "Ma'am, please, you need to step back. You're going to have to trust us and let him go."

Sara nodded acknowledging the paramedic's words before silently stepping back, never taking her eyes off her husband. Without thinking, Brass took her by the shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze causing Sara to wince at the sudden sharp pain. "You did good, Sara," he told her quietly. "He's in good hands now. Let them do their jobs."

"His name's Gil," Sara murmured shakily. "When I got to him, he wasn't breathing but there was a pulse. Or at least I think there was but then I couldn't feel anything anymore and I did CPR and…"

Meanwhile, Doug was examining the injuries on Grissom's chest, shaking his head in disbelief before carefully positioning the silver disk of his stethoscope. He listened intently for what seemed like an eternity to Sara, who stopped talking, holding her breath awaiting the dreadful news.

"Jackie, his eyes are fixed and I'm getting very shallow infrequent breaths on both sides," Doug told his colleague while he lifted Grissom's arm with the intention of letting it drop to check for reflexes. However, his expression shifted and he frowned on discovering the cannula still attached there.

On hearing Doug's words, Sara let out a cry of relief. "He's still alive?" she asked, finding it hard to trust what the paramedic had just said.

The paramedic didn't provide the answer Sara was hankering for. Instead he asked pointedly, "What's this? Did you do this? Did you already give him something?"

"What? No," Sara replied categorically. "McCormick did. He said that…that he was doing a little experimentation on Gil. This must be what he was talking about! And the Polaroid, Jim," Sara exclaimed turning to Brass. "He looks just like he did on the Polaroid. Maybe he's done the same thing again. Al said he could have been injected with a potent muscle relaxant, which would explain-"

"Wow! Stop there," Doug exclaimed, turning round abruptly. "You've lost me. I thought we were the first ones to respond. Who's this McCormick? Is he a physician? Can we check with him what he's given him?"

"No," Brass said. _He's at the bottom of the lake._ "He's our suspect. He's the one who's tort- done all this to Grissom and I doubt-"

"Okay," Doug said edgily. "Okay." He took a deep calming breath. "One thing at a time. Gil's in respiratory arrest and our priority's to keep him breathing. At the minute I'm afraid his heart's too weak and is not beating fast enough to provide enough oxygen to his lungs. Then we'll worry about what he's been injected with and his other injuries."

"Are we intubating?" Jackie asked, already gathering a laryngoscope and an endotracheal tube.

"In an ideal world we would but I don't think it's going to be possible in this case. Not with the injuries to his lower face; we'd cause him more harm than good," he said addressing Sara. "We're going to ventilate his lungs manually."

Jackie nodded as she quickly assembled the resuscitator. The paramedics were acting quickly, their movement fluid, precise and controlled. All the while Doug kept a running commentary describing his actions; first he placed the oxygen mask over Grissom's mouth before affixing the reservoir bag while Jackie was hooking the portable cardiac monitor up onto the patient's chest. Doug then began the slow regular squeezing of the bag ventilating Grissom's lungs. "Any idea on the ETA for the chopper?" he asked Brass, who quickly popped his head outside to relay the query to one of his officers.

Meanwhile Sara was scanning the small cabin looking for any evidence of drugs, trying her hardest not to succumb to the terrible wooziness that was threatening to engulf her. She noticed two photographs on a shelf, Grissom's photographs, and a tape on top of them and she frowned before quickly reaching over the stretcher and pocketing them without anyone noticing. Next to the photographs, she found a small box that she opened with trembling fingers.

Brass re-entered the cabin. "The chopper's airborne and should be here in ten. The nearest landing spot is half a mile up the coast just off Lakeshore Road."

"Jim, take a look at this," Sara said as she slid out three syringes out of the box. She had to squeeze her eyes shut before blinking rapidly in order to clear her vision. "Sodium thiopental and pancuronium bromide," she read out with some hesitation, peering at the labels. "They're both empty. I know pancuronium's a muscle relaxant-"

Jackie's head bobbed up with interest. "Docs use it during intubations as it causes temporary paralysis of the respiratory muscles. The thiopental's used in OR's when surgeons need to medically induce a coma," she supplied rather enthusiastically, much to everyone's amazement. In reply to their quizzical look, she shrugged apologetically. "Sorry," she added, "I'm studying to get into Med school and I've been reading up about that stuff. What's the other one say?"

"Potassium chloride but he didn't get to use it. The syringe is fully loaded."

"Well, that explains why Gil's still with us," Jackie provided bleakly. "That one stops the heart. Looks like you made it in the nick of time and that you interrupted this good angel of mercy in the middle of his execution." She looked like she was about to say something else but when she caught the dark look Doug cast her, she didn't. Instead, she opened a plastic bag and held out her hand, saying, "We should pass these on to the ER doctors."

For Sara the young paramedic's words were only just sinking in and she seemed to waver on her feet, losing her balance.

"Sara, are you all right?" Brass said leaning over to catch her before she fell. Sara closed her eyes as she tried to dissipate the dizziness and nausea before slowly nodding her head. "Please, can you take a look at her?" Brass asked Jackie. "She took a round in the shoulder and I think-"

Jackie rose to her feet, taking the box with the syringes out of Sara's hand before taking a look at her shoulder but Sara pushed her off, looking up at her in confusion. "I'm fine. Help Gil. Help my husband, please."

"You're not fine," Jackie countered softly. Yet her voice held an edge of authority. "Let me take a look at your shoulder. Doug's got Gil stabilised."

Sara's gaze was vacant as she murmured, "He's in a coma?"

Catching Jackie's eye, Doug gave her an unambiguous shake of the head. "I'm sorry," Jackie said at last as she applied a second compress to Sara's shoulder. "It's not our place to say. The doctors'll run tests and they'll be able to tell you." She lifted the back of Sara's blood-soaked blouse, checking for an exit point. She smiled. "It's a through and through. I'll strap the wound tight and put your arm in a sling."

"Is he in pain?" Sara asked Doug.

The latter looked up from bagging, offering a small smile. "It's hard to tell but I don't think so."

"Is he going to be okay?"

The two paramedics exchanged a look and Doug said, "It's best to wait till we get to the hospital."

As though in a trance, Sara took her eyes off Grissom and looked down at the wound Jackie was dressing, realising for the first time that she had been shot. "It's a flesh wound," she told her. "It's fine. I'm fine." She sounded quite the opposite.

The paramedic shook her head in disbelief at Sara's words as she deftly put a sling around her arm to immobilise the shoulder.

"Jackie?" Doug Said. "I want to take a look at his left leg before we can move him onto the stretcher for transport. Sir?" he asked turning to Brass. "Can you take over the manual ventilation? Just slow, regular gentle squeezing. Do you think you can do that?"

Brass didn't hesitate and took over the paramedic who swiftly cut through the bandage. Sara watched him as he carefully pulled the bandage off, revealing the untreated gunshot wound that had started to bleed again. Doug couldn't help shake his head, sighing while he felt around the obviously fractured femur. How badly was anybody's guess. His gloved hands stilled and his brow furrowed when he noticed the five-inch long scar running from just below Grissom's hip to the middle of the thigh.

Sara's voice was no louder than a rasp whisper when she spoke. "Gil was…he had an accident last year and he's still got three small metal pins holding the bone together."

Doug turned, nodding. He dressed the wound before carefully splinting the leg with Jackie's help. They were moving him onto the stretcher when a uniformed officer popped his head round the door. "Chopper's waiting, Captain."

"Okay," said Doug. "Jackie, you take over bagging. Sir?" he told Brass, "Can you take one of the bags and help carry the stretcher?"

Brass did so as the officer kept the door open and when they reached the deck another officer helped too.

By now, Sara was just about keeping upright. She was feeling light-headed, nauseous and weak, all the energy and adrenaline that had kept her going totally spent. She walked behind the procession as though in a daze, holding her arm close to her chest, wary to get in their way as they negotiated their way with the heavy stretcher while avoiding sudden movements. When they got to the ambulance, she didn't notice the small crowd gathered there as she silently watched her husband being loaded into the rig.

Jackie quickly took her place at the driver's seat, swiftly turning the engine and flashing lights on while Doug clambered on at the back. He turned and looked at Sara. "You're coming with us," he said.

"I was coming with you anyway," Sara replied gloomily, Brass already helping her on board.

"Where are you taking them?" the latter asked.

"Desert Palm."

"Sara," he called, "I'm going to have to stay here until we find McCormick's body. Are you going to be all right?"

She didn't seem to hear Brass's words and her eyes suddenly widened in alarm. "Jim, Noah…"

"He's at Catherine's, remember? Don't you worry about him, Sara. He's fine. I'll speak with the team and get someone to check on him. I'll come over to Desert Palm as soon as I can, okay?" Sara gave an imperceptible nod. "You hang tight, Sar and don't be a pain; let them treat you!" he tried but his quip fell on deaf ears.

Brass nodded to Doug and watched as the latter pulled the doors shut. Lights flashing and sirens screaming, Jackie sped off toward the waiting chopper. Brass took a second to gather his thoughts and release a breath as he shook his head in disbelief.

_Goddamn it, Gil! That's the second time you do this to me. I don't ever want to have to live through this hell again! I came close to losing two of my closest friends today._

He turned round, deep in his thoughts and was headed for his Taurus to call for a team of divers to fish McCormick's body out of the lake when he heard a loud, resonating bang, sending shivers down his spine.

He spun his head round toward the rocky edge of the shore. Even from this distance, there was no mistaking the silhouette standing, gun pointing toward the ground. "Heather! No!" he cried, taking off running, racing to the shore for McCormick's life.

Or was it for Heather's life?

* * *

Tbc.


	40. Chapter 40

McCormick was pulling himself out of the water onto the rocky shore with great difficulty, still unable to believe the turn the events had taken. One minute he had the upper-hand and was all set to kill that bitch Grissom and then the next he was being propelled overboard and thought that was the end. He knew some bastard had shot him in the chest but he also knew he'd had just enough time to pull the trigger.

_Hopefully, with success._ _I hope she's fucking dead._

He was also hoping that he had managed to fool them all once again and that by now they'd be looking for his dead body at the bottom of the lake. He didn't try to suppress the grin of pleasure and satisfaction tugging at his features. And then his grin grew wider as he thought of his first victim.

_He had it coming, that smug bastard. Shame I didn't get to watch him take his last breath._

If he could just crawl his way to the scrubs twenty yards further up, he'd be able to lay low and ride this out. The throbbing pain radiating from his chest to his left shoulder didn't bother him at all. In fact, he rather liked it; it made him feel alive. Made him feel strong and powerful and invincible. He rolled onto his back before squeezing his eyes shut tightly against the bright sky. He needed to catch his breath.

He had all the time in the world.

He remained in this position for a minute, lulled by the rhythmic sound and movement of the small waves lapping up his legs as he concentrated on stilling his breathing to the same cadence.

His eyes still closed, he heard the tell-tale click of a revolver being cocked back and smiled at his visitor. "Heather," he whispered softly and reverently after a while keeping his eyes shut. "You found me. I never saw it coming. None of it. And neither did you!" He let out a derisory snort as he snapped his eyes open. "I'd have thought you'd have more imagination than just shoot me. And miss?"

"Oh! That wasn't me," Heather replied calmly. She was standing behind and over McCormick's prone body, gun drawn to his face. She moved, stepping into the water, facing him. "Believe me. I wouldn't have missed. You'd be lying at the bottom of that lake like the bottom feeder you are."

McCormick sighed. "I had so many plans for the two of us. If you'd just-"

"If I'd just what, Stephen?" Heather spat angrily. "Come on, let me hear it! Love you? Obey you? Be your fucking slave? Is that what you're trying to say, in your pathetic way?" Her eyes were ablaze with revulsion. "I feel nothing but contempt and loathing and-"

"Not so long ago, you enjoyed our games."

"That was my profession; that's what I made you believe; that's what I was paid a lot of money to do."

"Is that what it was like with Grissom too?"

"What?"

"Grissom. _Gil. _Your… _friend_. Did you pretend to enjoy the games with him too? Don't pretend to the contrary. I know what I saw."

"Enough," she said determinedly.

"I was going to groom Alison for you, for us. _He_ made a very good practice subject."

"Enough," she said through gritted teeth, shutting him up. "You are a sick, weak, wicked poor excuse of a human being. You repulse me," she spat with venom.

"That's not what Alison said; she said she _liked_ her _Daddy_."

Heather knew the mental games McCormick was playing; she knew he was trying to rattle her, get a reaction, and be the one in control of the situation. She knew she shouldn't rise to the bait and yet, however much she couldn't bear to hear what McCormick had subjected Alison to, she needed to know.

"What did you do to her, you son of a bitch?" She didn't pause to her his response. "How dare you lay a finger on my poor innocent… SHE'S JUST A CHILD," she screamed as angry tears burned in the corner of her eyes. "An innocent child. MY CHILD and you violated her, you tainted her. She was pure, beautiful..." her words caught in her throat and she swallowed painfully. "I'm going to make you pay for what you did."

"You're right she _is _beautiful. _Was_ beautiful," he amended with a wink and a smile. "And pure. I was only just getting acquainted too. She showed real promise."

But this was one revelation too many for Heather who, although trying her hardest not to show her pain and anguish, was failing to, playing right into McCormick's hands. She tightened her finger on the trigger of the revolver, boring her gaze into him. She watched him for a long time, her face hardening until her darkened gaze became so menacing that McCormick's face registered a look of surprise as he realised that Heather was about to call his bluff. When she had him just where she wanted him, she curled her lips into a satisfied smile and readjusted her stance.

She didn't hesitate. She fired once, aiming low toward his groin.

Stunned, McCormick's reaction seemed to happen in slow motion. First, he frowned in confusion before bursting out laughing, a nervous laughter borne out of pain and incredulity. "You shot me?" he groaned looking up like a frightened little boy, his voice full of undisguised disbelief.

"Did you think I wouldn't do it, you sick son of a bitch? Do you think I don't have it in me? You're scum, a piece of shit. You're not in control anymore, I am. The next one will castrate you."

"I'm not scared."

Heather shrugged. "Poor bastard, you will be."

"Heather, stop!"

Hearing her name and fast approaching footfalls, Heather turned her head, not surprised to see Brass quickly making up ground, looking extremely anxious. He was followed by three uniformed officers.

On seeing she was all right, the captain slowed down his running, his face relaxing as he finally caught up to her. He stopped a few feet away, panting hard and indicated to his men to spread out. He glanced at McCormick and noticed the bloodied face, chest and groin area.

Heather clenched her eyes shut, shaking her head as she blinked back tears. She turned back toward McCormick. "Jim, please. You got to go. I don't want you to see me like this."

"I can't do that Heather. I can't let you do this."

"You _got_ to let me do this; I need to finish this. He needs to pay for what he did to Alison; for what he did to Grissom."

"Heather, don't do it! Don't do this; you don't need to. We got Grissom. We found him. He's on his way to Desert Palm."

"He's alive?" she asked turning to look at Brass, her tone a mixture of relief and utter surprise.

Brass placed his gun back in its holster and motioned for his officers to provide cover. He then slowly smiled nodding his head at Heather. "Yeah, he is."

Heather blinked back a tear and smiled at Brass.

"Are you sure about that?" McCormick asked with a chuckle. "Because it sure didn't look that way to me. What about his little tigress? Is she alive too?"

"It doesn't matter anyway," Heather spat, turning to glare at McCormick with so much loathing and rage that his chuckle turned to an uneasy cough and he swallowed the knot in his throat. "I'm doing this for Alison," she continued. "He deserves to die a slow agonising death and not one he will enjoy, I promise you."

"No, Heather," Brass countered softly. "How will putting a bullet into this animal help Alison? He deserves worse and he's got it coming. Let him find out what it's like to live in a cage for the rest of his life. He'll have no control there, no power. Let him become somebody's bitch." He paused, breathing hard. "Don't play into his hands. Don't you see this is what he wants from you?"

Heather shook her head and extended both arms aiming the gun at McCormick.

"Heather, please. Don't do this. Ali needs you. She _needs_ you. She needs you _now_; you should be with her."

"She's sleeping. My little girl's finally sleeping. They've sedated her," she continued her voice a sad low whisper. "Jerome'll be with her soon."

"What about when she wakes up? In a hospital room all on her own? Whose face do you want her to see first? Don't you think she's been scared enough?" Brass paused to let his words sink. "She needs _you_," he simply repeated very softly. "Think of her. Give me the gun; I'll deal with him."

Brass could see he was getting through to Heather at last but he still needed her to back down and surrender the gun. "If you go ahead with this," he continued, "you're no better than he is and that scumbag will have won. Is that what you want? You want him to win?" Heather was shaking her head, staring into the distance. "I'd have no choice but to arrest you and that's the last thing I want to do." There was genuine pain and sadness in Brass's voice as he uttered those last words.

All the while, McCormick had been watching the show and Brass's interaction with Heather with great interest, letting the scene unfold. "Oh! Isn't this sweet? The Dominatrix _and_ the police captain. Listen to him, sweetheart, listen to your-"

Brass snapped his head down, meeting McCormick's gaze full on, cutting the latter's tirade short with his deathly stare. "Shut the fuck up, McCormick," Brass said quietly, emphasising every syllable, "or I'll shoot you myself." He stared meaningfully a while longer, letting his threat sink.

A nervous chuckle escaped McCormick's lips. He wiped bloody saliva from his chin with the back of his right hand, before looking down checking for blood.

Brass looked back up to Heather. Her hands which had been steady up to now were beginning to tremble but the gun and her attention were solely trained onto McCormick. He hoped that if she had wanted to put a round through McCormick she'd have done it already. Yet he was unwilling to take any chances and his tone became more urgent.

"She'd be taken from you, Heather. All you've worked for, for the last three years, you would just lose it all. I know you're hurting right now but killing him won't make all this go away. Heather, please give me the gun," he pleaded, reaching out an open palm toward her.

Heather remained quiet, seemingly debating with herself.

Brass took one step nearer. "Heather?"

Her name was spoken with so much softness and promise that Heather couldn't contain her emotion any longer. Her head lowered a fraction and her eyes, that had been burning with rage and loathing a moment ago softened before filling with tears as her whole body began to shake. Brass was about to signal for his men to apprehend McCormick when at the last minute, Heather once more straightened the gun toward McCormick. There was no mistaking her intention.

Brass only had a split second to react. He threw his body on Heather, yelling for his men to hold fire, knocking the gun out of her hands and her over in the process. In the scuffle the gun discharged into the ground, missing McCormick's privates by inches.

"You saw that," McCormick shouted, frantic. "That's attempted murder."

"Shut the fuck up," Brass said as he quickly got to his feet. "Keep it for your attorney."

Brass kicked the gun away out of reach, motioning for his men to approach. He moved to McCormick and turned him round roughly, wrestling his hands behind his back, reaching for his handcuffs. He ignored McCormick's protests of police brutality and of needing medical care as he snapped the cuffs round his wrists before hauling him up to his feet, reading him his rights before passing him on to his fellow officers.

Heather was still on the ground, curled up on herself, sobbing uncontrollably. He waited for his men to leave before kneeling down near her. He took her by the shoulders turning her round toward him before roughly pulling her to his chest, breathing a sigh of relief. "I've got you," he breathed into her neck as she clung on to him as though he was her life line, great wracking sobs shuddering them both as she let out more than two weeks of repressed grief, rage and woe. "I've got you."

* * *

It took no longer than twenty minutes to ferry Grissom from the ambulance onto the awaiting chopper and for the latter to finally safely land at Desert Palm.

For Sara, these were the longest most terrifying twenty minutes of her adult life, even when Natalie had taken her it had felt different. She had been the one fighting for her life then. Grissom had once told her that it was worse for those left behind, the ones left in the dark as he had sadly experienced. Of course she had disagreed at the time but now she would be prepared to concede that he had had a fair point. She pinched her lips together to stop them from quivering. She'd give anything to be able to concede the point to him now.

While during the flight she had been powerless to do anything than watch Grissom being kept alive by the sole efforts of the on-board doctor, she had managed to reach out enough to be able to hold the tip of his fingers and with each squeeze of the bag blowing air into his lungs she had involuntarily tightened her fingers around his as if squeezing her own life into them.

And because the doctor wasn't willing to give her the reassurances she needed – she couldn't even count on the comforting steady beeping of the heart monitor, for that was drowned out by the loud thumping of the helicopter blades – Sara had to rely solely on the almost hypnotic line pattern of Grissom's heartbeat on the monitor as only comfort that he has still with her.

A small comfort but the only thing she had to cling on to.

The door of the helicopter was suddenly opened from outside and Sara started, disoriented for an instant, unaware that they had landed. She was staring out at three people bent over as they shielded their faces from the aircraft downdraft, and a gurney.

"Ma'am?" a woman shouted as she gingerly approached. She held out her hand for Sara to grab as she got off. "I'm Janine." Sara moved unsteadily and took the nurse's hand as she clambered down, keeping low before turning to watch Grissom being unloaded. "Ma'am? Please, you need to come with me."

"They wouldn't tell me anything," Sara murmured, rooted to the spot, watching as her husband was being transferred onto the gurney while the doctor quickly relayed all the necessary information to the surgical intern that had come to the roof to escort Grissom, as well as passing on the plastic bag containing the syringes.

Janine checked her chart. "Mrs Grissom, you need to come with me."

"Where are they taking him?" Sara asked panicked as the intern and his aide whisked Grissom away from her side. "I didn't get to say goodbye; I-"

"They're taking him straight to the OR." Sara made to follow the gurney but the nurse held her back. "He's in good hands," she added. "You need to let him go."

But Sara had other ideas. "Wait! Stop!" she cried, running to the gurney. "Please," she murmured, placing her hand on the intern's arm to stop him. "Please." The intern nodded and Sara bent down low toward Grissom's ear. "You hang in there, Gil, you hear me? You don't give up. Please, don't leave me behind. I love you."

The gurney was pushed away from her and Sara remained rooted to the spot, her mournful gaze fixed onto the doors left to swing shut in her husband's wake. "What if I never see him again?"

"You got to have faith," the nurse said kindly. She placed her hand in the crook of Sara's good arm and turned her around. "Come on, love. The ER's this way. I'll get a doctor to take a look at your shoulder and then I'll get you cleaned up." Sara shook her head, still wistfully looking over her shoulder toward the doors to the OR. "It won't take long, I promise," she added on noticing Sara's reluctance to come. "He'll still be in surgery by the time we finish treating you. Dr Jimenez'll let us know as soon as they know something."

At long last, Sara turned her head toward the nurse, nodding gratefully, her lips curving downward into a sad smile. "Thank you."

* * *

"Hello? … Hello?"

Sara cleared her throat. "Lily? Hi, this is Sara."

"Oh Sara, I'm so relieved you called. Catherine rang saying that they'd found them, both of them. I am so, so happy. How's Gil?"

Sara hesitated. "He's…I don't know. They won't tell me anything." She paused, clearing her throat again. "They…they're operating on him now. It's not good. He's not good, Lily." The words caught in Sara's throat.

"Sara, you don't know that. You got to keep positive-"

"You didn't see him," she said more harshly than she intended to. "He's in a coma, Lily. He…he-" she stopped talking, trying to stop the quiver in her lips as tears filled her eyes again.

Lily paused. "You're right, I didn't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have played down his injuries." There was a slightly awkward silence. "What about you? How are you bearing up?"

"I'm fine," she told Lily after a while. "But they want me to stay overnight, for observation but I was…"

"…worried about Noah, I know. He's fine, Sara. Absolutely fine. He's an absolute joy to be around and we love having him."

"Are you sure? I could always-"

"No, Sara. He's no trouble at all."

"Thank you," Sara said in a small voice. She paused, hesitating. "Could you…I just wanted to…I needed to…can you put him on the line? Please?"

"Oh Sara, he's sleeping. Do you want me to wake him?"

"No, no, I'm sorry." Sara closed her eyes, overwhelmed by an incredibly unbearable sadness. "I should have thought. I'm sorry. I just wanted to hear him, his voice…it was stupid."

"No, Sara, it's only natural. You're his mother."

"Can you…can you tell him that mommy loves him very, very much and that she misses him and that I'm sorry I can't be with him but that I'll come as soon as I can." Sara's heartache was too much to bear and she let the tears she had been fighting fall freely. "Can you tell him that daddy's with me but that I need to stay with him…Can you give him a big hug for me and a cuddle-" But her words were a mixture of incomprehensible sounds and hiccup-filled tears.

Lily's drawn-out sigh could be heard over the line; she had perfectly understood Sara's message. "I will, Sara, don't you worry about him. You just take care of yourself," Lily said in a motherly voice. Sara nodded into the receiver, sniffling. "We'll have Noah as long as it takes."

"Thank you Lily. I…I really appreciate what you're doing for us." Her voice was no louder than a whisper. She swallowed hard. "I'd better go." She didn't get to hear Lily's response as she quickly clicked the connection off. Sara replaced the receiver on the portable phone Janine had wheeled out for her and broke down into sobs wondering if her life could get any worse.

There was still some moisture in Sara's brown eyes and her lower lip was quivering a little but she squared her shoulders and held her chin up when some time later Janine walked back into the curtained-off cubicle, a smile on her face. "There you are, all done, love." The smile quickly made way to a concerned expression coupled with an equally wary sigh when she saw Sara's miserable face. She pulled out a few paper towels from the dispenser and passed them on to Sara. "This is not what your husband's going to want to see when he wakes up," she admonished kindly. "Pretty eyes like yours should not have tears in them."

This last comment garnered a disbelieving snotty snort from Sara. Now, where had she heard that before? "Gil says that to Noah all the time," she laughed tearfully. She took the paper towels and wiped her face before blowing her nose noisily.

"Mind those stitches," the nurse said, a small glint in her eyes. "Your husband sure talks a lot of sense."

Sara managed a small smile, recognising the nurse's efforts at kindness. "He does. Thank you," she added, placing the dirty paper towel on the tray.

"How's your little boy?"

Sara took a short breath and released it quickly. "He's all right," she smiled. "Asleep. And totally oblivious to any of this."

"It's the best way to be." Janine held out a couple of pills and a small cup of water. "Take these now," she said matronly.

Sara smiled again, doing as she was told.

"Good. And there I was thinking you'd be giving me grief." Met with Sara's confused frown, she added. "A Captain…Brass from the LVPD called asking about you. Wanted to know if you were obliging. He said to let you know they had, and I quote, the SOB in custody and that he'd get here as soon as he could."

Sara's face closed off at the mention of McCormick but she absently nodded her head acknowledging Janine's words. _So he wasn't at the bottom of the lake after all. He'll fucking get what's coming to him._ Sara knew Brass would need to take an official statement from her detailing what happened on the yacht prior to his timely arrival and she was ready. She would do what she could to ensure that bastard never got to see the light of day. The needle would be too good for him.

"He sounded concerned, like he cares about you a lot. Is he a friend of yours?" Janine continued, snapping Sara out of her thoughts. She didn't like the dark look that took over Sara's features on hearing the message.

Sara looked up, her gaze softening almost straightaway. "He is. We used to work together. He's like a father to me."

Janine nodded. "I got you a room upstairs for the night."

"I appreciate what you're doing, really but I won't be needing it. Thank you. Keep it for some poor other sod. Now, since you can't or won't tell me what I want to know, can you take to someone who will? I want to see my husband."

* * *

Tbc.


	41. Chapter 41

Hours passed with no news. Sara's frantic pacing made way to her half-sitting on one of the few chairs outside the operating room, springing to her feet every time the heavy doors swung open. Daylight turned to darkness, unnoticed under the glare of the harsh hospital lights. By that point, Sara wasn't even asking any more and nurses would simply walk past her shaking their heads.

Eventually, she stopped looking up when someone walked past; when the heavy doors swung open; she stopped noticing the other patients, the other families. She stopped noticing their pain. She slowly withdrew upon herself, closing off the outside world. Shutting off their pain. Wallowing in her own. Waiting.

By the very early hours of the morning, the doors opened again startling Sara. She turned her head expecting to be yet again disappointed but this time she was met by Dr Jimenez's reassuring smile. The only positive news about this whole mess was that he had been on when Grissom had been brought in. He was one of the top orthopaedic surgeons in the country and Sara was sadly well acquainted with him. Sara didn't smile back. She wiped her face trying to rub some life into her, immediately jumping to her feet.

"Sara! I'm so sorry to be seeing you again under such circumstances," he said, rubbing his hand over his tired face and removing his surgical hat in the same movement. "And I'm sorry you had to wait for so long. I'm afraid it took longer than we anticipated."

Sara nodded, pinching her lips together fighting her inner turmoil, the doctor smiling at her again, that kind of pitiful smile she used to dish out to victims of crime. She closed her eyes and uttered the question she had been asking all evening. "Is he okay?"

"Gil's doing okay _now_," the doctor said with clear emphasis on the word 'now', leaving Sara under no illusion that Grissom's condition was indeed very serious and that it had taken all his skills to get Grissom through the hours. He placed his hand in the crook of her arm and guided her back to the chair. They both sat down. "We've got him comfortable."

"Can I see him?"

"Shortly. We're getting him settled in the ICU. It won't be much longer."

Sara heaved a great sigh of relief, grasping the surgeon's hand. "Thank you."

The doctor nodded, hesitating slightly before continuing, seemingly debating with himself where to start. "There were three of us surgeons working on him at different points and because I know you, both of you, I'm going to speak on behalf of my colleagues too. You will meet them in due course in the morning, I'm sure, but we felt it would be easier to-"

Noticing his hesitation, Sara inhaled deeply. "I'm ready. Just tell it as it is, please. I need to know where we stand. I know he's in a coma-"

The doctor released a short breath before interrupting her. "He is, Sara, and he hasn't regained consciousness. Which is what's worrying us. Gil was injected with a drug, a drug we used to use in surgery to induce what we call a medical coma. Generally, the patient wakes up from such coma by themselves once the drug's worn off." The doctor sighed. "Sufficient time should have elapsed by now for him to…what I'm trying to say, Sara, is that-"

"He should have woken up by now," she finished, her eyes darting around the corridor, unable to meet the doctor's gaze lest she broke down. She got up and began pacing the floor, nervously wringing her hands together.

He nodded. "That's right. The drugs should have worked their way out of his system. And while we're still waiting on his blood tests results to confirm our suspicions we think that your husband was injected with a much stronger than recommended dose of the sodium thiopental."

"But he is going to wake up, isn't he? It's just going to take him longer."

The doctor turned his head, making eye contact with Sara as she walked the floor. She deserved to know the truth and not be under any false illusions. "I'm sorry but at this stage, we can't tell for sure but it is the most likely outcome since he sustained no trauma to the brain itself. His CT scan shows no lesions or swelling there. We thought for a while a blood clot from his leg injury had travelled up to his brain and the neurosurgeon did a neurovascular angiography but it was clear. Dr Archer will explain everything to you in the morning after he's had time to run some more tests."

Sara was too numb to comment and she stopped pacing, her vacant gaze staring straight in front of her. "Is he in pain?"

"No, he isn't," the doctor replied with a small smile.

"What about the other drug he was injected with? The pancuronium bromide."

"Well, as far as we can tell, it's completely worked its way out of his system and his lungs have regained some function. We believe that you and the paramedics got to him early enough; his body wasn't deprived of oxygen for long enough to cause long-term cerebral damage…"

Sara nodded, silently squeezing her eyes shut, trying to keep her attention focused on the doctor's words but they just became a jumble. She was feeling so tired, so drained and there was so much more she needed to know, needed to ask.

Dr Jimenez was now saying, "…however his oxygen saturation is still very low."

"Stop!" Sara said more curtly than she thought, shaking her head. "Just wait. I need time to digest all this. What are you telling me? What does it mean?"

"Sara, it means that at the moment Gil can't breathe for himself. He's just too weak. The ventilator's providing 85% of his oxygen."

Sara felt weak and wavered on her feet. She put her hand out, reaching for the seat and collapsed onto it.

_You can do this, Sara. Come on, be strong. Be strong! _"What about the operation itself?"

"Well, the oral surgeon is satisfied that the repair to Gil's jaw went well. His mandible wasn't broken as was originally diagnosed, which is good, but it was dislocated on both sides. He fixed that and consequently the anaesthetist was able to intubate him, which made the rest of the surgery a lot easier once we could stabilise his breathing."

Sara knew somehow that the worst was yet to come and she braced herself for what she was going to ask. "What about his leg?" Sara murmured almost inaudibly, turning her head away to hide her tears, losing all composure. She buried her face in her hands as she began to cry.

The doctor sighed, carefully choosing his next words. He waited for Sara to calm a little before deciding for the truth. He cleared his throat. "He suffered a comminuted spiral femoral fracture. Do you know what that is?"

Sara turned to the doctor and nodded grimly. It was exactly the same break as the last time. She took a deep breath. "Last year, he was involved in a plane crash-"

The doctor nodded, smiling. She didn't need to say more. "I saw. I…" He swallowed painfully. However long he had been doing this job, it never became any easier to be the bearer of tragic news. He took a deep breath. "First, I made an incision over the old scar, exposing the femoral fracture allowing the bone fragments to be realigned. I then removed the three pins he had left from his previous surgery as well as some shattered smaller bone fragments with the intention to secure a plate onto the bone to heal the fracture." He paused. "However, when I was inserting the plate, there were complications and-"

Sara closed her eyes, rubbing them with her hands, willing those to stop shaking. She took a deep dreary breath before uttering very quietly, with a strangely-calm detachment, "You couldn't save his leg, could you?"

Dr Jimenez offered a paper-thin smile, shaking his head despondently. "I'm sorry Sara but no, I couldn't. I did everything I could but the blood supply to the rest of the leg was compromised and the nerve, tissue and muscle damage was just too extensive; the repair wouldn't have held. I did everything Sara, but in the end I had no choice but to amputatemid-thigh."

All of a sudden, it was like someone had muted the sound. Sara nodded, completely stunned but at the word amputate she had switched off, her mind's only way of keeping her sane. She felt the bile rising from deep within her to her throat and thought she was going to be sick. Her head was spinning; her palms were sweaty despite the chill of the air conditioning. Her world had slowly lost all colour, was slowly turning to black as it crashed down around her.

She didn't hear the rest of the doctor's heartfelt words of comfort; how lucky Grissom was to still be alive; how lucky he was to have been found so soon. She didn't hear how she had saved his life by blowing air into his lungs. She never felt his hand reaching across her shoulders as he tried giving her what little physical contact he was allowed as a doctor, never saw the nurse approach, discreetly nodding her head at the doctor.

"Sara? Sara?" the latter was saying.

Sara blinked uncertainly at him as the sound returned. "Huh?"

"Would you like to go see Gil now? He's ready."

Sara looked up, unshed tears in her eyes. It felt so unreal; the doctor's words so muffled and distant.

Dr Jimenez silently motioned a completely dazed Sara into ICU. She followed him on autopilot, completely unaware of her surroundings, slipping on the gown and mask he held out to her. The doctor stopped at the door and turned round hesitantly. "Sara, you need to be prepared," he said softly. "There is a lot of equipment and it can be a little daunting but remember it's there to help him and he can't feel a thing."

Sara nodded again and the doctor pushed the door, signalling for the nurse who was caring for Grissom to leave them for a moment.

Sara remained at the threshold staring at the bed, her eyes immediately focusing on her husband's face. He looked so small, so frail and yet so peaceful under all the bandages, behind all the tubes. The only part of his face uncovered by bandages was his eyes and those were closed. She took a step in and then another, tears she had been able to control up to now, running freely down her cheeks.

The doctor was looking at her; he was talking to her but she wasn't listening. She wasn't hearing a single word. Next thing she knew she was alone in the room. She held out a hesitant, trembling hand toward the bed, almost too shy to go near, feeling ashamed at her cowardice.

_Come on, Sara! Snap out of this! You need to be strong. He will wake up. He will walk again. He will be fine. Everything's just going to be fine. This is just a fucking nightmare. He needs you. Gil needs you. Now more than ever. Don't be a coward._

She let out a sigh and squared up her shoulders before walking the few remaining steps to her husband. She gently took his left hand in hers, bringing it up to her cheek, never taking her pained eyes off him.

"Gil, I'm here. You're safe now. I've got you."

She lightly ran her other hand down the side of his face even though it was covered by bandages, taking great care not to disturb the breathing tube sticking out of his mouth. She leaned down close to his face, tears splashing down onto him and kissed him on the forehead before straightening up, bringing up his hand back up to her face. And she cried into it and cried some more until she had cried herself dry.

When she had no more to give, Sara brought a chair to the bed and sat down, cradling his hand, prepared for the long wait until he woke up. For she was sure he was going to wake up. And however long it took, she would wait patiently by his side. The only thing she was missing most of all and that would get her to leave Grissom's bedside was her son. Her precious son.

Hours passed in much the same way, unsurprisingly neither of them moving from their spot. At first, she didn't dare fall asleep or leave the room lest he woke up on his own. She couldn't bear for him to wake up and be alone. She barely noticed the nurse making her regular rounds, doing her checks, changing IV bags, monitoring outputs and meticulously filling in Grissom's chart. Once or twice, the latter would try to speak to her, inquiring whether she needed anything but Sara would only reply succinctly and always in the negative.

And as day had turned into night, dark turned into light as a new day dawned over Las Vegas. Sara finally succumbed to her exhaustion and fell into a restless sleep, her head resting on the bed, with his hand cradled in hers. Soon her mind became a slideshow of flashing images, visions of the atrocities she imagined McCormick had subjected Grissom to. Her head filled with her husband's moans and screams of pain and suffering at the hands of that heinous psychopath as he inflicted his slow evil torture.

Suddenly, McCormick was wearing a black hood over his head, face and bare chest with two tiny slots for his eyes as she imagined him dressed like a public executioner as she remembered them from school. He was holding the noose or was that an axe – or both – in his hand and although his face was covered she could still see through the hood clear as day the wicked smile tugging at his lips as he meticulously slipped the noose round Grissom's head and then the image flicked and she watched him wield the axe over Grissom's neck. The next second, he was pressing down the plunger on the syringe as he delivered his own brand of capital punishment.

And then he was pulling the hood off his head, his features morphing into Sara's own tear-streaked, anguished face and then _she_ was holding the noose, the axe and the syringe in her blood-covered hands and when she looked down at the dead body, it wasn't Grissom lying there but McCormick.

And Sara smiled. Sara smiled in her sleep.

On her last round, the nurse had unwittingly witnessed Sara's inner struggle but could never imagine Sara's horrendous nightmare as the latter moaned and groaned incessant 'Nos' in her sleep. She had hesitated, wanting to rouse Sara, wanting her to rest in her own allocated bed two floors below but she had thought better of it. Hadn't the doctors said that it was better for coma patients to have their loved ones around them, speak to them, and describe what was happening to and around them?

She was changing Grissom's IV bag when she stopped suddenly. She turned her head to look at Grissom. "It's me again, Dr Grissom, Angela," she whispered, wary of waking Sara. "You've got quite an extended family and a lot of friends, who care about you a lot." She smiled shaking her head in disbelief. "So far, we've had one sister, two brothers and your son all keeping the desk nurse's phone busy asking after you. Are they night owls by any chance?"

She paused to readjust the tube in Grissom's mouth. "I hear you have a little boy, though. I do too. Well, mine's not so little anymore. He's eight. They grow up too fast. Your wife's here but you probably already know that." The nurse glanced at Sara, whose head was restlessly tossing and turning. Her face became serious. "She hasn't left your side. She's finally sleeping now. You know," she mused, "and I hope you won't mind me saying but she's real pig-headed. She's got her own room downstairs - Oh, she's fine, don't worry, we're just keeping her in overnight for observation - but I couldn't get her to budge and go get some proper rest."

At that moment, Angela thought she could see Grissom's eyes flutter under his eyelids as though he could hear her and was listening and responding to her chatting about Sara. She waited a beat to see if the flickering intensified – after all they were all waiting, hoping for him to regain consciousness – but it stopped as suddenly as it had occurred and Angela shrugged, deciding to make a note of it on Grissom's chart anyway.

"Anyway," she said brightly as she replaced the chart at the end of the bed, "it's almost the end of my shift so I'll say Bye, Bye, for now. Meredith is going to take over. She's very nice. Not as nice as me, mind but you'll like her." She smiled a little sadly as she straightened the sheet covering the bottom half of his body. "I'll be back tonight. You hang in there, Dr Grissom."

Angela was on her way out when Catherine cautiously opened the door popping her head round, checking the coast was clear. On seeing the nurse's frown and headshake, the CSI's face filled with terror and she immediately snapped her head toward the bed but when she noticed Sara sleeping at Grissom's side she understood and exhaled noisily. She nodded at the nurse and followed her out into the corridor.

"Visiting hours are between two and four pm," the nurse admonished kindly. "And _he_'s not going to be able to go in with you."

Catherine looked at the smiling bundle in her arms and flashed her credentials. When that didn't work, she used her charm, powers of persuasion and when all that was failing too, she did a bit of good old-fashioned name dropping.

Looking at her watch, the nurse eventually smiled in amusement before saying, "You're persistent, that's for sure and he's absolutely gorgeous. You need to wash yours and his hands with antibacterial soap and you also need to put a gown and face mask on. We're worried about infection. My shift's ending in ten minutes. When I leave, you will be gone. And please keep this quiet, I don't want the whole of the LVPD traipsing through this floor." She lifted one eyebrow at Catherine. "All right, Ms Willows?"

"Thank you. Ten minutes, I promise. We won't be any bother."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Please, leave a review even a very short one, just to let me know you're still out there reading and enjoying? We're almost at the end but I'd like to know how quickly you want this resolved as there are still a few loose ends to tie. Thank you!


	42. Chapter 42

Once she was fully kitted up, Catherine gave herself a little pep-talk – bright and cheery, she reminded herself – and looked down toward Noah with a smile. He was stood on unsteady legs, gripping tightly at her pants legs for balance, his big brown eyes turned upward expectantly, as though edging Catherine on into going in. Her smile widened and she giggled in amusement. "You want to see your mommy and daddy, don't you?" she whispered bending down to pick him and her bags up. "Come on then, sweetie. What are we waiting for?"

Catherine cautiously pushed Grissom's door open, her eyes immediately settling on her dear friend, her smile disappearing from her lips. She could hear the steady quiet beeping of the heart monitor not quite in sync with the clunking whoosh of the ventilator breathing for him. In one glance she took in the imposing machines, the numerous tubes poking in and out of his body keeping him alive, pumping him full of drugs – she took in the hopeless misery that permeated the room. She sighed.

However hard she tried, she couldn't help her gaze zoom in and stare at the lower half of Grissom's body, at the uneven shape of his legs under the white cotton sheet. She was prepared; she had prepared herself for this. She had been in this situation a thousand times before. She could do it. She needed to be strong for Sara. She needed to keep her emotions in check. Aim for bright and cheery, she reminded herself, but no too cheery.

The movement of the door opening must have startled Sara awake because the younger woman slowly lifted her head off the bed, looking around checking her surroundings uncertainly, rubbing her eyes and her face before silently getting up to brush her lips to her husband's. Catherine couldn't help smile at the tenderness of Sara's gesture as the latter ran a trembling finger over his face as she quietly spoke to him.

It was the very first time Catherine witnessed a direct display of affection between the two of them and she felt humbled and sighed thinking how sad it was that Gil couldn't reciprocate the loving gesture. She wanted to wait a little while longer before going in but the heavy bundle in her arms was starting to babble animatedly, squirming his way free having recognised his mother nearby. Catherine quietly rasped her fingers on the door frame, announcing their presence.

But Sara was already turning her bleary-eyed, black and blue face toward the door, a genuine happy smile immediately lighting her features. Catherine gasped on seeing Sara's pitiful state. She had spoken to Brass about what had happened at the Marina and he had told her of Sara's bravery – or selfless stupidity, as he had put it - but she wasn't prepared to see her so badly beaten up.

"I thought you could do with cheering up," Catherine whispered to Sara with a small smile, stepping into the room further.

Sara's face was filled with joy and tenderness and tears on seeing her son and she covered the distance between them, holding out her arms to him. The little boy didn't need to be asked twice and he propelled himself forward, delighted to leave Catherine's tight hold for his mother. He was beaming at her as he clumsily hugged her, his little hands roaming her face delightedly and pulling at her hair to put in his mouth. Sara winced in pain but ignored it as she inhaled deeply into his neck, taking in his scent, letting his baby smell fill her nostrils, closing her eyes eager to imprint her memory with it.

"I've missed you so much," she cried into his neck. She spent a little moment like this, her face buried into the plumpness and softness of his neck before looking up to offer Catherine a teary smile. "Thank you," she said very quietly and very emotionally.

Catherine reached out her hand to give Sara's arm a comforting squeeze, smiling. "Lily…Lily said you called. She thought it would be good for…you – and Gil to see him and well, I'm just sad I didn't think of it myself."

Sara was smiling as she absently ran her hand over Noah's brown curls. "How did you- Did you smuggle him in?"

"Goodness no, Sara. I wouldn't have dared," Catherine replied with a glint in her eye, thinking how close she had been to succeeding, too. She shrugged. "He charmed the pants off that nurse." Catherine clasped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry. He's too young to understand, isn't he?"

Sara nodded with a smile.

"Good."

There was an awkward silence as Sara continued to enjoy her little boy's company and Catherine checked her watch. She didn't have long before she had no doubt the nurse would kick both of them out. She reached into her purse and took out a small white paper envelope.

"Sara," she said after a few seconds of hesitation, "I want you and Gil to have this back." She held out the envelope to Sara, who, propping Noah on her hip opened it with a frown. The latter looked up with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Catherine, how did you manage to-"

"We've got plenty of evidence to nail McCormick. We don't need this. I felt it needed to return where it belongs."

Sara nodded with a grateful teary smile and slipped Grissom's wedding band out of the envelope. She fingered it tenderly and walked to her husband's side before shifting Noah higher onto her hip to free her movements. She precariously lifted Grissom's hand and slipped the ring back on his finger, remembering the very last time she had made that very same gesture before squeezing Grissom's hand warmly as though silently imparting her memory to him.

Noah chose that moment to fill the silence in the room. "Da, da…da…da, da."

Stunned, Sara laughed with pleasure. "Yes, sweetheart. It is Dada. He's here. He's…" she swallowed the lump in her throat, "he's sleeping right now but he is going to wake up soon and give you the biggest, biggest cuddle. I know he'd love that." Sara became quiet for a moment as she nuzzled Noah. "Do you think he knows what's happening?" she asked Catherine.

"Noah or Gil?" Catherine replied. Sara's gaze remained turned away but Catherine noticed the slight shrug Sara had given in reply. She turned, resuming her watching of Grissom. He looked so unlike the Grissom she knew, the Grissom she loved. He looked so…expressionless. So vulnerable. "He knows," she said after a little while. "He knows you're here; he knows we're all here. I'm sure he can feel it."

Sara turned to look at Catherine and offered her a small thankful smile and a nod. She went to sit on the chair, settling Noah in her lap, ruffling his hair. "Are you sure you and Lily don't mind doing this?"

"Nooo," Catherine said categorically. "He's a treasure. Besides, he's just what Lindsey needs."

Sara turned her head, her arched brow demanding clarification.

Catherine smiled, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know. She…she's got this romanticised vision of motherhood."

Sara's brow lifted even higher.

Catherine chortled at Sara's untold implication. "Beats me," Catherine replied with another shrug. "Must have skipped a generation – or two," she added, laughing. "No, seriously though. Noah's great; he's doing a far better job of putting her off than I ever could."

Sara couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. "That bad, huh?"

"Nothing more than what you'd expect from your average eight-month-old," Catherine reassured. "But yeah." She paused, her gaze once more settling on Grissom, her expression shifting. "How is he, really, Sara?" she asked after a while.

She gave a small shrug. "No change. I'm waiting to see the neurosurgeon."

Catherine nodded, taking a few steps toward the bed. It was her turn to take Grissom's hand, to run her fingers along his palm as though she was studying it. Her fingers eventually settled on his ring finger, stroking his plain wedding band and she smiled to herself, her eyes brimming with tears. She swallowed and looked up to his face. She leaned in close and spoke quietly to his ear so Sara wouldn't hear.

"It suits you," she said with a small smile. "Marriage; the ring. I wanted to tell you when you got back to Vegas but we didn't get the time." A tear escaped and she brought her hand up to wipe it away. "I knew you had it in you to do it; it just took you a bit longer, that's all. And I know you've got it in you to fight this, to wake up. We've got McCormick; we've got all the evidence we need to convict him. He's going to go down for a long time." She squeezed her eyes shut and then reopened them on hearing Noah's gentle squeals of delight. She turned her head toward the sound and watched Sara play with her son. "You hang in there Gil, you hear me? You have a beautiful son, a beautiful wife, a life that's worth fighting for. Despite it all."

Catherine brushed her lips to his bandaged cheek, lingering there for a few seconds, clasping his hand tightly. Her face lit up suddenly as she felt the tiniest movement and she looked down to see the tip of his fingers stir.

"Sara!" she called with undisguised joy. "I think he moved. I felt his fingers move."

Sara sprang up to her feet, Noah in her arms. "Are you sure?" she asked her voice a mixture of joy, hope and disbelief too.

Both women watched Grissom intently for a long moment for any signs that he was regaining consciousness but nothing happened and Sara's face fell. Catherine looked toward Sara, crest-fallen. "I'm sorry. I really thought he had responded." She fell into an awkward silence. "Why don't I call the nurse or his surgeon? Maybe he _is_ waking up."

Sara shrugged and sighed but nodded her head regardless. The day nurse came in almost immediately and frowned on seeing Sara with Noah in her arms and then her gaze settled on Catherine. She didn't look very happy. "You shouldn't be here," she said reproachfully. "This is not doing the patient any good."

Catherine cleared her throat uneasily but chose to ignore the nurse's comment. "Grissom- Gil just moved. I was talking to him and he moved his hand. He wriggled his fingers. I'm sure he did."

"It's probably just an unconscious response," the nurse replied dismissively. "It happens sometimes in coma patients. He doesn't know he's doing it."

Catherine glared at the nurse. "I think he's letting us know he can hear us, Sara," she said. The nurse averted her gaze and busied herself, briefly shining a light into his eyes and checking any change in his breathing and ECG output. But Catherine knew she was simply going through the motion to placate both women.

On finishing, the nurse picked up Grissom's chart and said, "I'll get Dr Archer to come in as soon as he's here but I don't see any change in his condition." As an after-thought, she added, "Sorry."

Sara nodded bleakly and returned her attention on her son.

"You," the nurse then said addressing Catherine, "It's time to say goodbye."

Catherine was seething and wanted nothing more than take that nurse down a peg or two and yet she remained silent as the latter left the room. Instead, she tried her best to muster a bright smile but didn't quite manage it. "Jim gave me the keys to his house and I brought you a change of clothes," she told Sara. "It's in the bag, there and I got a few toiletries too. I didn't think you'd want to go home yet. I also took a few more of Noah's things …I hope you don't mind-"

Sara nodded in gratitude. "No, Catherine, thank you. I don't know what to say."

"There is nothing to say, Sara. I'm here for you – both of you. We're all here for you."

"I know Catherine. I know," Sara said breaking down into sobs. "I'm sorry," she apologised tearfully, "I, I-"

Catherine moved forward and crouched down to take Sara and Noah in a clumsy embrace, holding them both while Sara cried, trying to offer words of comfort but knowing that there was nothing she could say that would make Sara's pain more bearable. After a little while, Sara calmed and Catherine pulled back.

"I'm afraid, we're going to have to go," Catherine said softy, reaching for Noah's change bag. "Or we'll be in the nurse's black book. And we don't want that, do we?" she said, addressing Noah and putting on that silly voice adults use when talking to very young children. Catherine seemed to catch herself and added, "I'll come back this afternoon and I'll bring Noah back tomorrow, okay? Do you want me to bring you or Gil something else?"

Sara shrugged uncertainly, spending her last few precious seconds kissing and snuggling to Noah.

"Well, if you think of something, just let me know. I know the guys will try to come too. They're finishing off processing the scenes but they're thinking about you. Both of you."

Catherine picked up the change bag and held her arms out for Noah and the little boy began to whimper his discontent.

Sara kissed her son once more and begrudgingly handed him back. She asked the question that had been burning her lips for a while now. "Catherine, have you heard from PD yet?"

Catherine pinched her lips together debating whether she should tell Sara all. "They're stalling," she said with a sigh, leaving out that McCormick was still being treated for his injuries and was keeping quiet until his attorney showed. Nothing life threatening unfortunately, she thought, but enough to delay formal questioning by the Police. "Jim's still waiting on his attorney to show." She sighed and feeling that Sara needed a little more reassurance than she had provided, she added, "He's got nowhere to go, Sara. We've got him."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: A little shorter, I know but the next one is almost done and coming soon, and also a disappointment for some of you, to whom I promised a different outcome. It will come…, but I wanted a 'happier' chapter after the sadness and woe of the previous one. I hope you enjoyed Noah's interaction with his parents.


	43. Chapter 43

"I thought you'd have a full house," Brass said by way of greeting as he tentatively stepped into Grissom's hospital room. The police captain paused with a frown, listening. "A ball game?"

Sara turned to smile at the detective, who was bending down to kiss her softly on the cheek and shrugged. It was barely two pm and Brass was the first _official_ visitor to make it. Despite the fact that the suit underneath the hospital gown looked like it had been slept in, it was clear that the detective hadn't had a moment's rest since the previous day – or the day before that for that matter. And sadly, Sara thought, it was showing as she noticed how drawn, tired and anxious-looking he looked.

"You're looking a little better than yesterday," he said quite candidly, breaking the awkward silence.

Sara flinched at the words, but chose not to reply as she tried her hardest to push away the images that were suddenly filling her mind again.

"A recording of the Cubs vs Phillies 2001 play-off game," she finally said in a whisper, in response to his first question. What she didn't say was that this was one of Grissom's favourite games and that he would put the DVD on in the background whenever he needed peace and quiet – or just when he wanted a quick way to get Noah to nap. "The doctors are divided on the subject; they don't seem to know for certain whether coma patients can hear what's happening around them but they tend to think so. It can't hurt to try though, can it?"

Brass didn't say anything and threw an uncomfortable glance in Grissom's direction before clumsily holding out a bunch of flowers to Sara. "I'm sorry; I didn't know what else to get you. I thought this might brighten up the place a little."

Sara got up from the chair, took the flowers, put them on a table nearby and thanked him with a small smile. She then moved near the bed and turned the small portable stereo off.

Brass nodded toward Grissom. "How is he?"

Sara was looking tense and she sighed. "The machine's still breathing for him, he's still in a coma and he's missing a leg. How do you think he's doing?"

Brass let a deep breath out, looking down to his feet. "Sara," he said gently moving to take her in his arms.

She shrugged him off. "Please, Jim, don't." She paused, tears suddenly building in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take my frustrations out on you, but seeing you here has brought it all back, that's all. I've been having the hardest time erasing the sight of Grissom lying there, dead on that boat, or I thought he was anyway, and McCormick..." She closed her eyes, shaking her head, unwilling to confess to the dark thoughts that were obsessing her. She took a deep breath rubbing her eyes before opening them again, smiling at Brass. "Can we start again?"

Brass smiled tenderly and nodded his head. "Sure."

Sara shrugged again. "There's no remarkable change in his condition; he's breathing a little more by himself but they're keeping him on the ventilator until he…you know," she pinched her lips to stop them from quivering, "so that's good?" she said with the kind of inflection to her voice which was half-way between a statement and a question.

"That's good," Brass repeated softly for want of something better to say.

"His wounds are healing and his…his…" Sara's voice cracked as she tried to say the next word, "… Dr Jimenez says that there is no sign of infection there either. We're just waiting for him to wake up. He _just _needs to wake up. He scores a three out of fifteen on the Glasgow coma scale but you know, that's normal," she added at the same time smiling, shrugging and shaking her head incredulously. "Three out of fifteen and the …effing doctor tells me not to worry, that it's normal! ALL THE FUCKING TESTS ARE NORMAL, JIM. Can you believe that? So, why isn't he waking up, huh?"

"Sar…" Brass whispered, coming closer to wrap his arms around her but she pushed him away offhandedly, far from being finished.

"According to Dr Archer, that's the neurosurgeon," she continued in earnest, "most coma patients wake up on their own within two to four weeks. Two to four weeks!" she repeated in disbelief. "And he said that as though he was announcing good news." She stopped, panting hard and struggling to catch her breath. "Oh, Jim," she cried finally turning to burrow her head in the detective's shoulder, "What am I going to do? How I am going to tell him that…that…?"

"Sshh," Brass whispered closing his eyes and running his hand over her hair in comfort. "Don't think about this now, Sara. Let's just take things as they come. But remember, you're not on your own. You don't have to do any of this on your own. I'm here; we're all here. The doctors will explain it all to him for you. It's going to be okay."

She looked up, her eyes wide. "How can you say it's going to be okay? It's never going to be okay. This has changed him, Jim, changed us for ever. We can't undo what's happened. We can't-"

"Give it time, Sara. You're strong. He's strong. You've had hard times in the past and lived through them. I know it's going to be tough but look at Al Robbins. He's had to do it and he has lived a good, fulfilled life. Why don't you talk to him? I'm sure he could put your mind at rest and he'll be there to help Gil too when-"

But Sara wasn't listening. She was feeling agitated and she pulled back from Brass's embrace, locking her gaze onto his, cutting short his attempt at reassurance. "What's happening with McCormick?"

Brass seemed surprised by Sara's sudden change of tack. "What?"

"McCormick. You charged him and then what? He pleaded guilty? Confessed to his sins? Worked a deal with the DA?"

Brass looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

"Oh my God," Sara gasped in shock, bringing a trembling hand to her mouth. "Catherine said you had enough to put him away. Surely he can't deny the charges; the DA wouldn't do a deal-"

"We have-He's not." Brass paused to look at Grissom. "Listen Sara, I don't think we should be doing this here, now, in front of Gil. It's not right."

"What's not right? NONE OF THIS IS FUCKING RIGHT!" She cleared her throat and willed herself to calm. "Dr Archer said we needed to treat Gil as though conscious, we need to talk to him, include him in our conversations. I've even been playing his favourite music; we've been listening to ball games, for god's sake!" Her voice had been rising steadily and she caught herself. "Maybe hearing what you have to say will wake him up."

"Sara, please. I know you're under a lot of stress right now but this isn't doing you or Gil any good."

"Then talk to me, Jim," she said a little more quietly, "Talk to us."

Brass sighed, a long dreary sigh. He had no choice but tell Sara the status quo. He waited a while, searching for the right words but he couldn't find any that would soften the blow. "McCormick's attorney has entered a plea of diminished responsibility due to temporary insanity."

"W-What? He-what?"

"You heard me."

Sara collapsed onto her chair, stunned into silence, a million and one thoughts swirling through her mind. "He's going to get away with this, isn't he?" she muttered almost inaudibly after a while. She looked up toward Grissom, her eyes brimming with tears. "Tell me he's not going to get away with this," she asked Brass shakily. "TELL ME!"

"I'm so sorry Sara. We're still waiting on a psych evaluation. It's probably going to take a few days." He stopped short, hesitating to say more. He too looked toward Grissom, his face darkening, his eyes clouding over. He took a deep breath and said without hesitation, "I can assure you he won't get away with it."

"How can you be so sure? He's a mean, Machiavellian, sick psychopath; maybe there _is_ something wrong with him after all."

"Sara, he won't get away with this," Brass repeated with conviction.

"It's too late. I failed. I should have killed him when I had the chance. The wheels are in motion now, there's nothing we can do."

"Of course there's plenty we can do."

"Like what? You've done your bit; the guys have done theirs. Now it's up to the doctors, the lawyers, and the judges. It's just like Natalie all over again. And Hannah; Greg and Demetrius James. He's going to run rings round us. He's going to walk, Jim, I know it. We see it happen all the time. That bastard's going to get away with what he did to Gil, to me, to our family and to our future and we're powerless to stop him."

Brass wanted to remind Sara that Alison and Heather had been harmed too but he kept his mouth shut for fear of inflaming the situation even more. She was right, of course. All her points were valid ones. Everyday, criminals just like McCormick and worse got away from facing up to their crime on technicalities or were convicted of lesser charges.

"Sara, listen to me. We mustn't get ahead of ourselves. We need to take each day as they come and fight him all the way. We have the law on our side; all the evidence we need; your testimony, Gil's when he wakes up – and he will – and Alison too. Don't forget he hurt her pretty bad too."

"I don't want him to rot in jail," she muttered more to herself than Brass. "I don't want him to end up like McKeen. I want him to die, Jim! I want him to face to what he's done and pay the ultimate price for it. The death penalty's too good for that scum. I wish I could have wiped that fucking smirk off his face. I wish I could get rid of the memory of what happened on that boat but it's just there every time I close my eyes. I wished I'd put a bullet in him and be done with all this. I-"

Brass took a sharp intake of breath at the vehemence of her words, at the almost joyful animation in her features when she talked of retribution for McCormick. This reminded him of a very similar conversation he had with Nick when the latter was still reeling over Warrick's death.

He knew that it wasn't the real Sara talking but the victim's wife. He knew she was still raw from what had happened and needed to vent her anger. He knew the real Sara wasn't pro-death. Hell, nor was he for that matter! She had more than once gotten into heated debates with him, Gil and the guys when she had voiced her strong objections toward the death penalty. But he couldn't help conceding that she had a point as he watched his friend, in a coma, on a ventilator, crippled for life, his life in tatters.

"So do I, Sara," Brass murmured eventually. "So do I." He cleared his throat uneasily. "But you got to trust the system, Sara," he said quietly. "Gil does."

"Well, I don't," she snapped angrily. "Not anymore anyway. The system's let me down, Jim. The system's let both of us down and Gil is a bigger man than I am for sticking with it for so long."

Brass kept silent, wondering how he could get the conversation back to safer grounds, hoping that a chat with Nick when he came in would calm her down, debating with himself whether he ought to ask a nurse to prescribe Sara a tranquiliser when he heard the door creak open and saw Greg hesitantly pop his head in. He could tell from the look on the young CSI's face that he had been standing outside the door for a little while, privy to their conversation, probably waiting for a break to venture in.

Greg could have cut the tension in the room with a knife and he looked from Brass to Sara and then to Brass again. "Shall I come back in a little while?" he asked as Sara turned away.

Grateful for the interruption, Brass smiled a little in reply and shook his head 'No'.

Greg walked in a little self-consciously, unsure of what to do with himself. He took a few hesitant steps up to the bed and gave Grissom a small wave hello. Wanting to give Sara some time to compose herself, he then turned to Brass, inquiring about his ex-boss's progress.

When Sara finally turned to Greg, it was with a fake smile on her face, a smile which didn't fool anyone in the room but Greg played the game nonetheless and covered the distance to envelop her in a very long hug, mindful not to squeeze her too tightly because of her injuries. "I've been wanting to do that all day," he said into her hair. "How are you bearing up?"

"Not so good, Greg," she replied while returning his embrace. "Not so good."

Greg sighed as he looked at Brass. The latter nodded toward the door and Greg frowned in confusion. "Do you want me to go?" he mouthed silently to Brass.

Brass shook his head before nodding toward Sara. Greg's face lit up in understanding. He pulled away. "Sara, I was thinking of taking Noah to the park before the start of shift tonight. Do you think you could help me choose a toy or something from the shop?"

Sara looked at Greg suspiciously and then at Brass who nodded his head, indicating that he was happy to keep Grissom company in the meantime.

"That's nice, Greg," Brass said. "Noah's a good little fellow." He looked from Greg to Sara. "Besides, there are a few things I want to discuss with Gil, that are private and I don't want you to hear."

Sara looked at her husband, hesitating to leave his side and yet Brass knew from her expression she was as grateful for the reprieve as he was. Eventually, she gave the police captain a small nod. "Greg, you got your phone on you?" she asked.

Greg patted his jacket pocket. "Sure, why?"

"Jim, promise to call if there's any change?"

"I will."

Sara took Gil's hand in hers and bent down low over him. "I'm going to go with Greg. I won't be long. Jim's here." She kissed him lightly on the mouth. "I love you."

As they left the room, Greg stopped and pulled Sara into another tight embrace.

"What was that for?" she asked when he released her.

"Can I not give you another hug if I want to?" Greg said in good humour. Sara gave him a small smile in return. "This one was from Nick," he added. "He said to tell you he'll come as soon as he's done at the lab. He's finishing off the Rosie Perkins's time-" Greg stopped mid-word realising the implications of what he was about to say. "I'm sorry. That was -"

"Don't worry about it Greg," Sara said sombrely. "It's not your fault."

Greg slipped his arm in the crook of Sara's elbow, leading her down the corridor. "Do you want to grab something to eat first?"

"I'm not hungry. I want to go to the chapel."

"The chapel?" Greg said a little surprised. "I didn't think you were-"

"I'm not. We're not. Not really. But Gil was – still is a little. His accident last year changed his outlook on things you know? Anyway, he goes once in a while when he feels _grateful_."

Greg nodded in interest. "Because he survived?"

"Survivor's guilt? No. I don't think so anyway. I think it's more basic and selfish than that."

"Because he was given a second chance?"

Sara nodded slightly, stopping in front of the elevator. She pressed the down button. "It can't hurt, can it?" _asking for a third one?_ She wanted to add but didn't.

Greg shook his head softly. "No, it can't."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Did Sara come across as though she was losing her mind? Good. That was my intention. And please, leave a review, they'll keep me going through my cold.


	44. Chapter 44

When the door had firmly shut behind Sara and Greg, Brass took the chair and drew it nearer the bed, dropping on it with a long weary sigh. "Sara won't be long buddy; you got me for a little while." He ran a shaky hand over his face, casting his mind back to his and Sara's heated conversation before Greg's timely arrival. "She's not coping too well and needed the break but I guess you gathered that." He cleared his throat uneasily, keeping his voice low. "I'm sorry you had to hear all that before, Gil. It really took me by surprise. I should have handled it better."

Brass looked down to his lap and rubbed his face tiredly again, missing the minuscule momentary flickering of Grissom's closed eyelids. "There's no way McCormick can get away with his plea of insanity but you know what the system's like. I'll make sure that everything's done by the book; that there's no cause for a mistrial. The burden's on us and the DA to prove that his actions were premeditated, carefully planned and that he's-"

Brass stopped talking abruptly, thinking that maybe now wasn't the best time to discuss all that. He remained silent for a long moment, watching his friend's chest rise and fall in tune with the strangely soothing sound of the ventilator. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure what to do with his hands, not wanting to fiddle with anything in case it broke.

"Should I put the game back on?" he asked Grissom in an attempt to break the monotony of the room. He got up and watched Grissom for a while as though waiting for a reply. He then shook his head with a wistful smile, moving to the stereo. Lying among the scattered CD's and boxes, he caught a glimpse of a tape with Grissom's name on it. Anything had to be better than baseball, classical music or opera, he thought with a small smile as he turned the tape over in his hand. Eventually, deciding he preferred the quiet of the room after all, he sighed as he put the tape down and he wandered to the window, fixing his gaze to the hospital parking lot below in silent contemplation.

"Listen Gil, I…I'm sorry about our last conversation," he said after a long while. "I don't know what came over me and why I was so goddamn judgmental. I know you'd never do anything to hurt Sara. I was just…being a prick." Brass snorted at his own admission and turned round to look at Grissom. "Look at me!" he added with a sad shake of the head, "I can't even tell you that in your face. Some friend I make."

He walked back to sit on the chair. "I don't know if Sara would have told you but…thanks to you, we found Alison. She's doing okay, I guess. She's downstairs in the children's ward, with Heather. She's not talking. Not even to Heather. Not a single word. She's blaming herself for all this, of course, Heather I mean." Brass paused. "Anyway, I'm rambling now and we both know that's something I don't do. I'm really thinking of getting that boat, you know? I'm tired of all this crap. Maybe it's time I hung up my boots."

The weary detective sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Gil; I'm sorry I wasn't good enough to catch that bastard sooner; before you ever were needed back in Vegas." He was struggling to keep the tremor from his voice. "If I had done my job properly, if I had gotten through to Heather, if I had caught McCormick sooner…you wouldn't be in this fucking mess right now." His voice cracked and Brass took a deep shuddering breath, running his hand over his face trying his hardest to keep it together and not break down.

After he had time to compose himself, he heard a soft knock at the door and he wiped his face quickly, resuming his spot at the window. He cleared his throat. "It's alright, Sara, I've finished. You can come in."

But when the door opened, Heather walked in. She looked terrible, even more so than when Alison was first missing, her face bare of make up, pasty and drawn, her clothes still dirty from her encounter with McCormick. She remained rooted at the threshold with her hand on the handle and tears in her eyes.

After a while, Brass turned with a confused frown and sighed on seeing Heather and not Sara. "Heather, what are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you said you were staying with Alison until I got back."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Brass didn't need Heather to elaborate to know she was talking about McCormick's plea and he exhaled noisily, looking down while she tentatively stepped into the room. "I was going to but…well, I thought you already had enough to cope with, what with Alison going home and- Who told you, anyway?" he asked sighing again, not waiting for her reply to continue. "I thought you could do without that on top of everything else."

"_That_?" Heather repeated incredulously, her voice strangely calm and low. "Without _that_? _That_ is my closest friend lying there unconscious. _That_ is Grissom," she said her voice breaking on saying his name. "_That _happened because of me. Of course I want to know how he is; the extent of his injuries. Why the hell would you think I didn't? I care about-" she noticed the flitting look of confusion on Brass's face as he quickly turned away from her and she stopped talking, her expression shifting as she came to the realisation that they were talking at cross-purposes.

"Jim? What is it you're not telling me? It's not about Grissom, is it?" She paused as she replayed their conversation in her head. "Is it about McCormick? What's that son of a bitch been saying now? Whatever it is I have a right to know. Please, Jim, if it concerns Alison I need to know. Is he pressing charges against _me_?" She snorted in disbelief.

"No." Brass clenched his eyes shut and went through the motions of repeating exactly what he had told Sara only moments before.

Heather staggered back onto the chair as though the air had been sucked out of her. And then she began to cry. "I don't think Ali can face a trial, Jim. I was hoping she wouldn't need to; that he'd plead guilty and…It's going to take forever isn't it? It's never going to end-"

She stopped talking, the sound of the door opening startling her and she turned round abruptly jumping to her feet to be met with Sara's deathly glare.

The latter came in headed straight to stake her claim on Grissom's hand. "Please, leave."

"Sara, please, I just wanted to see him; needed to see him. I was going to wait a bit longer to come but…" Heather blinked her tears away. "How is he? Please, just tell me how he is and I'll go. I'm sorry; I know I'm to blame-

Sara turned toward Heather and cast her such a look of pure unrestrained hatred that Heather flinched, stopping short and averting her gaze. She knew without words that Sara's fury wasn't just borne because she considered her responsible for what had happened. No. Heather was under no illusions; somehow Sara had got to hear about her dreadful _mistake_. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth and looked up in confusion whispering, "How do you- Sara, no. It's not what you think, I-"

"I want you to leave."

"Sara, please, let me explain."

"Please, Jim. Take her away; make her go." Tears filled her eyes and Sara looked away angrily. "This is just too much. I can't deal with this, with you, not now. Not on top of everything else."

Unbeknown to anyone, Grissom's eyes suddenly opened. They were wide but bleary and confused and staring unblinkingly straight in front of him. On hearing Sara's voice, his pupils responded, darting all over the place, taking in his surroundings and looking for his wife. Yet he remained motionless, too weak to move his head or his hand inside Sara's.

"Sara, it's not how it looks," Heather pleaded. "Please- I'm his friend. I need to know he is okay."

"Okay? Okay?" Sara laughed emptily. "He's never going to be okay, Heather. You may be _his _friend but you're not mine. I'm his _wife_ and I don't want you here."

"-arrr"

Sara's head snapped round to her husband and she gripped his hand tighter, smiling tearfully when she saw his eyes on her. They were wide, blinking anxiously now, the look of confusion, fear and sheer panic when for a split second he awoke thinking that he and Sara were still at the mercy of McCormick, heartbreaking.

He was desperately trying to breathe for himself, working against the ventilator but choking as he was unable to get much needed air into his lungs. He was also trying to sit up but realising he was too weak, too injured and far too sore to move he collapsed back onto the pillow.

The alarm of the ventilator going off was deafening but Sara remained cool and maintained eye contact throughout. "Gil? Gil? I'm here." She began stroking his face gently. "I'm here, baby. Don't talk. Don't try to talk. Just breathe, breathe slowly. That's it. You're on the ventilator. You're in the hospital," she continued, tears flooding her face, her voice cracking with emotion.

His face and gaze immediately relaxed as he took her in her, as he concentrated on her, on listening to her muffled voice speaking soothing words to him and his breathing calmed almost immediately.

Sara mustered a small smile through her tears. "You've been in a coma," she quickly explained looking into his eyes, knowing that Grissom would respond and most probably calm on being told straight what was happening. "You're safe, now. We're both safe. I…I'll call for a nurse." Sara looked for the remote and pressed the call button repeatedly.

She then returned her attention to Grissom while Brass and Heather looked on in shock. Grissom didn't seem to notice his two visitors; his eyes remained fixed on Sara as though the rest of the room didn't exist, as though he was making sure she was truly there and not a figment of his imagination, a side effect of the coma. Sara was bent low over him, stroking his hand, the side of his face, shedding tears of relief and happiness as she continued talking to him. After a while, she felt Grissom's fingertips respond curling a fraction in her hand and she squeezed them in comfort, smiling as she did so.

Out of the blue, she seemed to remember they weren't alone and she turned, peering over her shoulder to glare at Heather. "I don't want you here," she hissed. "Go, please. Just go."

Heather nodded sombrely and Brass was leading her out when Dr Archer and the day nurse rushed into the room, headed straight for Grissom. Sara had to let go of his hand when she moved back.

Dr Archer turned his small torch light on. "Mr Grissom? My name is Dr Archer. I'm your neurosurgeon," he said, shining his light into Grissom's eyes.

Grissom was too weak to move but his eyes were wide with unspoken questions and he was desperately groaning as he tried to talk.

"Please, you mustn't try to talk," the doctor continued calmly, locking his gaze onto his patient. "You fell into a coma and had respiratory problems and we had to intubate you. Gil, please, unless you stop fighting the tube you'll damage your vocal chords and trachea and I will have to sedate you."

The doctor's words had the required effect and Grissom stopped trying to talk but he was blinking frantically, his eyes shiny with tears.

"That's better," the doctor soothed. "But I'm afraid I can't remove the tube just yet; it's still too early. We need to wait until I'm satisfied that you can breathe unaided. Your sats are still too low. Do you understand? But now that you've regained consciousness, your breathing should improve rapidly," Dr Archer explained.

Grissom nodded his understanding to the doctor and when he closed his eyes, two tears escaped and rolled down the side of his face before being sucked up by the bandage.

"Your wife's here, Dr Grissom. She can hold your hand while I check you over. It won't hurt at all, I promise."

Dr Archer motioned for Sara to come forward and she took her husband's hand. He was calm now, breathing normally but the exertion of waking meant that he was struggling to stay awake and his eyes remained closed throughout the doctor's examination.

After a while, Sara grew frantic with worry. "Gil? Gil? Stay with me!" Sara closed her fingers tightly around her husband's. "Doctor, what's happening? He's lost consciousness again. He's-"

"No, Sara. He's just too weak to stay awake at the moment," Dr Archer said. Sara looked up with disbelief in her face. "He's just going back to sleep. A normal sleep," the doctor added with a smile. "It's going to take him a day or two to be able to stay awake for longer bouts of time. It's already remarkable he woke up so soon, Sara." Sara nodded, her eyes not leaving her husband's face. "Don't expect too much too soon," he then told her. "Let him sleep, regain some strength and I'm hoping within 48 hours, we should be able to take him off the ventilator."

"Will he remember all this?"

"How do you mean?"

"Will he remember what's happened to him, what's been said to him when he was in the coma?"

The doctor shrugged his shoulder in ambivalence and sighed. "It's hard to tell. He suffered no major trauma to the head so there's no reason why he shouldn't recall the events prior to his coma. There shouldn't be any memory loss if that's what you're asking. As for what's happened since, we don't really know for sure." He placed his hand across the back of Sara's shoulder in comfort. "He doesn't feel any pain at all, Sara, that, we're absolutely sure off and to him, coming out of the coma is like waking up from a very long sleep. He won't know what day it is; he'll be disorientated and confused at first and if he has any recollections of what's been said while he's been here, they will be dream-like recollections, nothing tangible I'm afraid."

Sara nodded distractedly, her mind on the doctor's words. He removed his hand and looked at her. "Sara, are you worried about anything in particular?"

Sara shrugged but didn't reply. Dr Archer was going to say something else but was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Nick walked in a little hesitantly on seeing the doctor and nurse in the room. He had a bag of food from Sara's favourite vegetarian restaurant in his hand. "Is this a bad time?" he whispered. "I can wait outside-"

Sara looked round abruptly, her expression shifting on hearing Nick's voice. "No, Nick. He just woke up," she exclaimed with a bright smile and renewed hope. Whatever was worrying her could wait another day. "He woke up!"

Nick beamed his brightest smile of pleasure at Sara, quickly covering the ground to take her in a heartfelt embrace. She hugged Nick tightly while he spoke quiet words of reassurance and happiness into her hair. When she pulled back she was nodding her head at his words and she took hold of his hand giving it another squeeze as she quickly brought him up to speed.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: I know you wanted more and the next chapter is coming very, very soon. Tomorrow if you're good readers! ;-)


	45. Chapter 45

"Clark County Jail, who do you wish to speak to?"

"Extension 318 please."

"Just a second while I connect you."

The line rang a couple of times and then someone answered.

"Crooks here."

"It's me. He's coming your way. Three pm today."

"Understood. We're all square?"

"We're square."

The line clicked dead.

* * *

When Sara arrived the next morning, Angela was in the room finishing her rounds and was delighted to announce that Grissom's night had been uneventful and that although he was still on the ventilator he remarkably was breathing almost all on his own, the machine providing only ten percent of his oxygen.

Sara had stayed by her husband's side as long as she had been able to the previous afternoon but there had been no change in his condition and in the end the day nurse had succeeded in kicking her out – albeit gently – telling her in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't be allowed to spend a second night in her husband's room, that she needed to rest herself to be strong for when her husband would wake up properly and finally clenching the deal on mentioning that Noah would certainly like to see his mother and hear the good news about his daddy. In the end, Sara had recognised the nurse's brash kindness for what it was and had relented, buoyed up by her husband's waking up and by the thought of spending some much needed quality time with her son.

As Grissom was still sleeping, Sara took his hand in hers waiting for Angela to leave the room to brush a good morning kiss to his forehead. Then she let go of his hand and on her tiptoes, leaned over him to hug him clumsily. "This one's from Noah," she whispered with laughter. "Catherine's going to bring him this afternoon. He's got a little something for you."

Grissom blinked his eyes open uncertainly and smiled awkwardly because of the tube in his mouth. He made a guttural sound and Sara pulled back, wiping a tear of happiness with her knuckle.

"Hey," she smiled. "SShhh. Don't try to talk. Don't fight the ventilator. You know what the doctor said," she added, absent-mindedly pushing up a stray curl sticking out from the bandage before refocusing her attention on his eyes. "Angela said you had a good night; that's good."

Grissom nodded and tried to talk again, in vain. And if he couldn't talk with his mouth, with his voice and with words, he would find another way to talk with Sara, with his wife, for there were so many things he needed to say to her that couldn't wait. So instead of being defeated, he smiled and let his eyes do the talking for him, concentrating all his energy into reflecting his emotions and thoughts into them.

Sara's grin broadened and her gaze narrowed onto his as she tried to decipher the silent message his eyes were trying to communicate to her. She slowly brought her fingers up to his face to touch, to caress all around his eyes, as she watched the emotions reflected in them – the softness, tenderness and love but regret and sadness too - her heart bursting with the love and pride she felt for him when she finally understood what it was he was telling her.

"Noah?" she whispered and to his nod, she added, "He's good, he's really good. He misses you like mad." She then laughed warmly. "He's a one little guy tornado in Catherine's carefully arranged life but she's loving it. Lily's doing most of the work!"

His eyes were smiling now, a soft contented indulgent fatherly smile that seemed to tell her that he too missed his son dearly.

She frowned in concentration as she listened to his eyes talk. "I know you do. Catherine said she'll bring him this afternoon…if you feel up to it."

Grissom nodded earnestly in reply, his gaze burning into her as he silently asked another question.

Sara's smile and eyes brightened in understanding. "I know," she said with a little nod in response. "I know you do. Soon, I hope. The nurse said maybe even today."

Grissom nodded blinking back a tear and Sara bent down to kiss it off as it trickled down into his crow's feet. "No tears Gil or I won't be able to keep mine in," she breathed near his ear. "We've got to be patient. Both of us."

A soft cough interrupted them. "Good morning, Sara, Gil," Dr Archer greeted as he made his way round the bed with the night nurse. Sara turned to smile at the doctor, begrudgingly letting go of Grissom's hand before stepping back to make space.

"Angela tells me you had a good night," the doctor told Grissom. He was carrying a big envelope and he placed it in the crook of his elbow as he studied Grissom's chart. "All your overnight readings and results appear normal," he said folding the chart shut. He then tapped the envelope underarm. "Your chest x-rays are clear; no signs of infection in the lungs and your blood gases are within the norm too. So, all in all, Mr Grissom, that's very good news."

"Is he well enough to be taken off the ventilator?" Sara asked voicing Grissom's earlier query.

The doctor arched an amused brow and gave a low chortle. "Your wife's not the most patient woman, is she? Although I've yet to actually meet one," he mused distractedly glancing around him. He locked his gaze to Grissom's as he continued, "But today, I feel magnanimous so I'll grant you your wish. We'll try to wean you off it. Generally the first try is the one but we'll see how it goes. How do you feel about that?"

Grissom nodded as enthusiastically as he could and Sara approached taking hold of his hand, which she clasped in delight, her already broad grin widening when she felt him squeeze back.

The doctor smiled. "I thought you would. Okay, no time like the present. Angela?" He nodded to the nurse the fact that he was ready. He disconnected the breathing tube from the mouthpiece and waited. Grissom took a couple of shaky breaths by himself. "How is it for you?" the doctor asked with a smile.

Grissom tried to reply forgetting that the endotracheal tube was still in his throat.

Dr Archer lifted his hand to stop him. "Wait till I've removed the tube, okay?"

Grissom nodded his head, blinking his eyes in delight.

"All right, then. I'm going to need you to take as big a breath as possible and hold while I pull out the tube. You're going to feel some discomfort but it should only take a couple of seconds. Ready?" To Grissom's nod, the doctor grabbed the tube, pulling it out in one swift movement and Grissom spluttered and coughed uncomfortably.

"How does it feel?"

"Ok-ay," Grissom croaked with hesitation. His breathing was a little laboured and he tried to cough off the tickling sensation at the back of his throat.

"Angela, could you prepare a nasal tube, please?" The nurse nodded and to Sara's questioning frown, the doctor explained, "Just as a precaution. I'm going to keep Gil on a little oxygen; just to aid his breathing. We don't want his lungs to have to work too hard if we can help it." He turned his attention back to Grissom. "Your throat and larynx are going to be sore for some time so I want you to limit your talking," he then told him while Angela affixed the nasal tube. "You will need to drink plenty of fluids too."

"I'll make sure he does," Sara said.

Grissom nodded gratefully, his eyes following the nurse's every move just as they had followed the neurosurgeon's every word. A crazy idea suddenly took hold in Sara's mind and she frowned in worry. Had he been lip-reading?

Sara moved forward in alarm. "Gil? Is something wrong with your hearing?" she asked abruptly.

Grissom's eyes caught hers and he knew instinctively what was going through her mind and he smiled slowly and reassuringly, shaking his head no in response to her concern. He brought a trembling finger up to his ear feeling the thick bandage, his eyes questioning the doctor. "W-hat-" he began with a croak.

The doctor smiled, quickly nodding his understanding in order to stop Grissom from asking his question. He removed the bandage around Grissom's face with a deft hand and applied a little pressure to Grissom's jaw, gently manipulating it as he examined the black and blue swelling underneath. "I'll get the nurse to redo the bandage so it doesn't cover up your ears," he said eventually as he refocused his serious gaze on Grissom. "And to answer your question, your jaw was dislocated on both sides."

"Not bro…ken?"

"No, Gil. Not broken, although I'm sure it must have felt like it. It's healing nicely now but it's going to take another day or so for the swelling to subside." The doctor pursed his lips into a reassuring smile. "Needless to say, your jaw needs the rest as much as the rest of you so you know what _not _to do, don't you? I'm sure Dr Roberts and Jimenez will come at some point this morning and discuss with you the rest of your injuries."

On mentioning the orthopaedist's name, Dr Archer gave a meaningful sideways glance in Sara's direction checking with her whether she wanted to tell Grissom about the injury to his leg now. Sara's smile faded from her lips and she gave a very small shake of the head in reply, her eyes immediately turning forlorn and tortured as they urgently pleaded with the doctor to wait. Grissom had only just got off the ventilator and they hadn't had any time to talk at all. She needed a little longer with her husband before he was told the dreadful news.

The doctor gave Sara a small understanding nod and after checking that Grissom was comfortable, he and Angela left. Sara's expression shifted and she jumped to her feet, quickly motioning to her husband that she wanted a word with the doctor and wouldn't be long.

"S-ara?" Grissom called in a murmur as she got near the door, stopping her dead in her tracks.

Sara flinched, giving a last regretful look toward the door and then she turned back to her husband with a smile.

He feebly lifted his hand up to beckon her back. "Don't go," he pleaded.

Her heart broke at the fear in his voice and she quickly covered the distance between them. "Hey," she said with sudden tears in her eyes. She clambered on the very edge of the bed, her hand stroking the side of his face. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here, with you."

Grissom raised his hand up to her face, to her cheek to dry her tears but the exertion of the movement was so much that he had no strength to keep it up there and it dropped limply back onto the bed. Sara tilted her head to the side and watched the disappointment register on her husband's face.

"Hey," she soothed very softly as she would Noah, "one step at a time, okay? You're supposed to be the patient one, here. Not me."

Grissom nodded but remained silent, his pained frustrated look giving way to a faint flickering smile across his lips that lingered there. As suddenly as it had appeared, the smile disappeared and Grissom looked up to Sara's face, studying it for a long time, his eyes filling with unbearable pain. He closed his eyes and murmured weakly, "I'm sorry."

Sara frowned in confusion. "You're sorry? What for?"

He reopened his eyes and gave a small shoulder shrug and then he nodded as though apologising right then was the most natural and obvious thing for him to do.

Confusion made way to understanding and Sara sighed. "Oh, Gil, please no; don't do this to yourself," she pleaded urgently. "You've got nothing to be sorry for; nothing. None of this is your fault."

"You came."

With those two words, Sara understood Grissom was blaming himself for dragging her back to Vegas and her heart broke for him at his selflessness. She placed a finger on his lips. "Ssshhh. Of course, I came. Where else would I be than here with you? Gil, please, look at me," she said as she gently moved her finger under his chin and turned his head. "It's not your fault," she spoke directly into his eyes, into his soul, "You can't blame yourself for any of this."

He smiled, lifting his hand to her face, wiping her tears with the tip of his fingers.

Sara closed her eyes, leaning into his touch and his eyes brimmed with tears as his fingers tentatively brushed the cuts and bruises around her swollen eye. "What- How-" he cleared his throat and blinked back a tear, "Did…did he- did McCormick do that to you?"

Sara brought her hand up to her face self-consciously, her expression darkening, her eyes filling with fresh tears. She nodded her head very slowly. "It doesn't hurt," she smiled weakly. "He can't hurt us again, Gil. Ever again. I won't let him. I promise. He's going to get what's coming to him." Sara tried to smile again but her face betrayed her inner turmoil.

Grissom kept quiet and just watched her with narrowed eyes. "Sara?" He said her name with some much tenderness and love and yet there was no mistaking his tone. He gave her one of his looks that seemed to say he knew she wasn't telling the whole truth but chose to let it go for now.

Sara gulped and closed her eyes. She wasn't ready for _that_ talk yet. She needed more time.

Reading her face, he asked instead, "Your shoulder?"

She let out a breath. "How do you know?" And to his small shrug, she added, "It's just a flesh wound. It's fine."

"He shot you?"

"I just wished I'd-"

"Sara?"

"It's okay now. I don't want to talk about it. He won't hurt us again and that's all that matters."

Grissom gave her a pained look. "I was so scared I'd lost you. When I was on that boat- I knew you had come."

"Ssshhh. You will never lose me." Sara pursed her lips into a wobbly smile and bent down to kiss the corner of his eyes where tears were pooling. "I'll always be with you and you with me – wherever we are," she said very quietly her lips on his skin. "You've nothing to fear now."

She felt him nod into her. "What about Alison?"

Sara let out a small sigh and straightened up. "We found her just before we found you. She was unharmed."

Grissom gave a soft nod of his head and shut his eyes. "Good. Heather must be so relieved."

"You tired?" Sara asked. To which, Grissom nodded again keeping his eyes closed. "Then sleep," she soothed as she began to gently stroke his brow. "I'll still be here when you wake up."

He opened his eyes tiredly. "You promise?"

Sara nodded with a sad smile, closing her fingers tightly round his and she stared at their joined hands for a long moment. She then brought up his hand to stroke her face with it, causing him to smile a long contented involuntary smile in return as he drifted off to sleep. She pressed his hand harder to her cheek, feeling its warmth, its strength, its life and when she was sure he was sound asleep, she let herself cry softly into it bittersweet tears of relieved happiness but also of pure terror at the white elephant still hiding under the hospital sheet.

But Grissom wasn't asleep and he let out a long sigh before whispering hoarsely "Come here" to her as she let it all out.

Sara got up and half-lay on the bed next to him as he clumsily opened an arm for her, folding it back around her shoulders protectively.

"It's going to be okay," he said very quietly into her hair after a moment as he felt her silent shuddering sobs lessen. He brushed his lips to her head and with closed eyes, inhaled deeply to take in her scent. "We're going to be okay; it's all over now."

* * *

Tbc.


	46. Chapter 46

Hours later, Sara awoke to a loud scream and for a split second she struggled to find her bearings, convinced the agonising scream had come from Grissom and when she turned to glance in his direction she could only see the back of his head but clearly made out his slightly-laboured breathing as he slept on. She shook her head, suppressing a shiver at the lingering recollection in her mind and rubbed him gently on the shoulder, sighing as she came to the sad conclusion that the scream that had woken her up had come from inside her own recurring nightmare.

She gingerly pushed herself up from Grissom's side, hands raking her hair back from her eyes. She narrowed her gaze uncertainly and ran her hands over her eyes and face trying to scrub off the horrendous visions of McCormick chopping Grissom's leg off. Carefully unfolding herself from his grasp she stepped down from the bed, still not convinced that the scream hadn't been real and alarm bells started to ring when she walked round to the other side of the bed to check on him properly.

He was very pale and clammy with sweat, his head burrowed deep into the pillow and when she placed the back of her hand on his forehead he began grumbling incomprehensibly to himself.

Sara bent down closer. "Gil?" she called hoarsely with undisguised panic. "Gil? Can you hear me?" She swiped her hand over his face and his eyes blinked open a crack. "What is it? Are you in pain?" she continued in a fraught whisper. "Is the medication not working? Tell me please!"

Grissom was half awake, moaning louder, clearly in pain and when he opened his eyes fully he let out an almighty terror-filled scream that pierced right through Sara. His gaze was haunted, panic-stricken, cold and unfocused and for a moment he looked straight through her as though he didn't see her or she wasn't there, as though he didn't recognise her before bursting into uncontrollable sobs.

Sara's eyes mirrored his terror but she kept her emotions in check. She began to talk to him in a quiet soothing tone, stroking him, whispering comforting words and when he still wasn't responding to her as he continued his catatonic staring she gently shook him by the shoulders to wake him fully and pull him out of his trance.

Grissom responded by trying to push her off but Sara didn't yield and half-sat on the bed and merely held him tighter to her chest. He was too weak to fight her and soon his eyes refocused and he blinked uncertainly, looking around him in a confused state.

Sara lowered her head to make eye contact with him and he looked up to her with such pained horror that Sara understood straightaway that the nightmares that had been plaguing her sleep for the last two days were torturing him too. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tightened her hold of him as she began a gentle rocking motion. After a while, she felt him calm and his breathing steadied and she pulled back from her embrace.

"Gil, talk to me," she whispered taking his face into her hands and leaning in close. "You had a nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?"

He just shook his head, looking down.

"Please, Gil, don't keep this to yourself. Talk to me."

"I'm not sure," he whispered in confusion. His face was dark as he attempted to replay the dream in his mind. "It felt so real...so painful. I was screaming. I was so scared."

Sara nodded softly. She guessed at what was coming next but she pushed through her fear, knowing that it was best for him to face his visions than repress them. "What did?" she asked in a murmur.

Grissom looked up to catch her eye and Sara could see the terror there. He motioned that his ribs were hurting and for her to raise the bed up so he could sit up, which she did. She watched as his eyes narrowed as he looked down forlornly toward his leg, staring at it for a long time before gingerly stretching his hand down his side to feel for his leg through the cotton sheet. He couldn't stretch further than mid-thigh though and his fingers settled on the thick bandage there.

Sara followed the progress of his hand with fear and tears in her eyes. She knew what was coming and she was dreading it. She looked back up to his face. His gaze was still fixated onto his leg but she could tell from the sadness in his eyes and the way his mouth was twisted that he knew.

He knew. Sara closed her eyes and let her silent tears trickle down her face. He already knew.

Grissom clenched his eyes shut at the memory of what McCormick had done to him and suppressed a great shuddering shiver. He didn't say anything for a long time and Sara could only anxiously watch on, waiting for him to say something, anything as she tried her hardest to be patient and not rush or overwhelm him.

And when he did start to talk, he kept his eyes shut, his voice distant and cold and emotionless. "It felt like the metal pins inserted into my thigh after the plane crash were being ripped out of my bone, torn out of my muscle," he said in a low monotonous tone. His breathing quickened as the memories flooded him. "He-he used a baseball bat…the crushing, burning explosion as the bone shattered…" He shuddered and Sara took his face in her hands, touching her forehead to his. "I thought that was the end but it wasn't." As the memory of what happened hit him fully his voice faltered and he cried out in excruciating pain that seemed to radiate all the way through his body.

At first Sara thought Grissom was crying out at the memory of McCormick's torturing him, that he was just exteriorising his feelings. But then as his groaning intensified, his eyes snapped open wide and she could see his tremendous suffering through them and as he writhed his whole body in agony she realised that the pain he was feeling right then felt very real to him.

And Sara knew that wasn't possible; that the pain he was experiencing was in reality in his mind and she quickly reached for the remote and frantically pressed the call button. "Gil? What can I do to help you?"

Grissom was shaking his head, unable to respond with words, his face white as a sheet and he was leaning forward, clutching the top of his leg in agony and gasping for much needed air.

Not daring to leave his side, Sara quickly filled a glass with water and brought it to him. She saw him gulp several times as though he has trying to swallow his intense pain before spluttering into a coughing fit, unable to catch his breath.

The fear in Sara's eyes turned to terror. "Gil, please just breathe slowly, breathe slowly; you're having a panic attack," she said as she rubbed her hand over his back. "Just slow deep breaths. That's it." She watched his face relax as the pain seemed to subside and she glanced anxiously toward the door for help.

Grissom reached for the glass and Sara brought it to his lips. He took a sip of water, shaking his head when he had had enough. He then cleared his throat shakily. "I'm ok-ay. It's passed," he gasped.

He closed his eyes and concentrated his energy on taking deep slow breaths and with each breath he pushed the memory of what McCormick had done to him a little further away. When he was feeling calmer, he dared to look at his leg and saw the uneven shape under the sheet. He took a very deep breath and forgot to release it. It just wasn't possible. It couldn't be that. Tears filled his eyes and he shook the crazy thought out of his head.

It just couldn't be possible; the cramping in his calf had felt so very real. He tried moving his toes and he felt them move. He let out the breath he had been holding and his heartbeat settled down. "How badly hurt is it?" he asked Sara after a while.

"What?"

"My leg. How badly hurt is it?"

Sara's face fell betraying her sorrow. "Your leg?" she repeated in disbelief averting her gaze to the floor to hide her sudden tears.

"Yes, Sara, my leg," he said quietly, noticing the change in her. Her face had always been such an open book and now more than ever. "I can't explain it; it's weird. It doesn't feel like last time. I feel a familiar dull ache there and then there's the cramping, this sharp pull as though my leg was being ripped apart," his voice broke and he stared at Sara in confusion. "I seem to be able to wriggle my toes but it feels deadened like pins and needles. I don't understand. Sara? Tell me. What damage did McCormick do?"

"McCormick?" Sara gasped. And then the penny dropped and she understood about the phantom pains. But she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze and she took a few steps back from the bed. She then threw a desperate look toward him and started pacing the room. Grissom was trying to sit up fully, reaching out to her but he wasn't strong enough and he collapsed back down onto the pillow.

"Sara? It's okay. You can tell me. Talk to me, honey."

The tenderness and love in his voice touched Sara to her core and she looked up, blinking nervously through her tears. But she faltered, eyes sliding away from his face. "I can't," she muttered, looking down toward the gap where his leg should be and then back up to his eyes. She saw all her distress reflected there and she knew that she should be the one to tell him about his leg, that he might react better if he heard it from her.

Her tears intensified and she strode back to the bed, taking him in her arms and she began to rock them both gently back and forth.

"Sara?" he whispered with tears in his voice and she could tell by the scared tone of his voice that their world was already beginning to crumble around them.

"I'm so sorry, Gil," she cried into his shoulder. "I am so very sorry. Dr Jimenez did everything he could but the damage was just too extensive and he couldn't save it." She sniffed loudly. "He had to amput-"

Sara stopped mid-syllable, interrupted by Grissom's all shattering resounding "Nooooo" that pierced through her body and she could only hold on to her husband for dear life as thought the mere gesture could shield him from his intense suffering. She wrapped her arms around him tighter forgetting about the injury to his ribs and she increased her rocking motion.

But Grissom was fighting her off, pushing her away and shaking his head from side to side in disbelief, his eyes wide with shock. Sara could tell from the way his mouth kept opening and shutting that he was struggling to come to terms with the fact that the very real pain he could feel in his leg was in fact a figment of his imagination.

Tears were relentlessly streaming down Sara's cheeks as she watched his face go from confusion and denial to anger. And then tears built in his eyes too and she tried to hug him but he was still shaking his head, shying away from her.

Sara didn't surrender her hold of him and exhausted he eventually gave in and let himself be held as he shuddered uncontrollably, great heart-wrenching sobs wracking his whole frame.

At that moment the door burst open and a harassed Meredith ran in, followed a moment later by Dr Jimenez still dressed in soiled surgical scrubs. The day nurse rushed to check the readings on the monitors while the doctor stopped at the end of the bed, catching Sara's eye. He sighed wearily in understanding and when Meredith tried to break up Sara's tight hold of Grissom the doctor placed his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. He had a quick word with the nurse, who nodded and left the room to return to her other patient next door.

The doctor cleared his throat uneasily and placed his hand on Sara's shoulder to get her attention. When she looked up to him, he mouthed, "Do you want me to talk to him?"

Sara shrugged her shoulder in uncertainty and wiped her face dry with one hand, pushing her hair away while keeping Grissom close to her chest with the other.

"Gil?" the doctor said gently, "Do you want me to stay? Talk to you? Go through the procedure with you?" Met by Grissom's slow shake of the head, he nodded adding, "I'm going to be around for the next few hours. When you're ready for me, we'll talk and I'll answer all your questions." He paused to give Grissom time to respond and when the latter didn't say anything, the doctor moved toward the door. "I know that what's happened to you is a life shattering tragedy Gil and that you can't see past your loss at the moment but you've got to hold on to the belief that it'll get better."

But refusing to acknowledge the doctor's words Grissom burrowed his head deeper into Sara, who, closing her eyes wearily, rested her chin on top of his head and inhaled deeply wanting to believe those words above anything else.

Dr Jimenez gave the two of them one last sad shake of the head and quietly stepped out of the room.

After what felt like hours but was merely minutes, Grissom moved and pushed Sara away pulling out of her embrace. His face was hard and taut. His eyes were dry and the gaze he cast her was cold and detached. Sara lifted her hand up to cup his cheek but he turned his face away. She gasped.

"Gil," she murmured. "Please, don't do this. Don't push me away."

Grissom kept his head turned away, unwilling to meet her gaze and then he closed his eyes to hide his tears. "I need to be on my own," he said very quietly. "I'm not pushing you away but I can't deal with you here, seeing me like this."

"Gil, let me help you."

"I don't want your sympathy."

Sara stared at him in disbelief. "It's not sympathy, Gil. It's love. Please, don't throw it back in my face."

He winced at her words but said nothing, keeping his head facing away toward the wall.

"I'm sorry," she whispered tearfully almost immediately. "I shouldn't have snapped but it's…" She stopped short, pinching her lips in a tight line.

"What? Hard for you too?" he asked bitterly, voicing what she hadn't.

"Gil, please. I'm here for you," she said reaching out her hand to him.

He flinched back at her touch and clenched his eyes shut tighter. "Please, I want to be alone. Leave me alone."

Sara drew her hand back hesitantly. "Gil, no. I can't do that." She was shaking her head. "I won't do that. I love you. We'll get through this together."

"Sara," he pleaded weakly, his voice cracking.

"Don't do this; I beg you. Not after everything we've been through to get where we are. We're stronger than that."

"No, Sara."

"I know we have a long road ahead of us but I'll be there every step of the way, with you."

Grissom laughed callously. "Every _step_?" he repeated coldly.

"Gil, you're alive! Can't you just accept that maybe-"

"I need to be on my own right now. I'm tired; I want to sleep. Can't you just _accept_ that?"

Sara looked down to hide how much his rejection was hurting her and stared at the lino flooring, following the pattern with her eyes until it all blurred into a blob. And then suddenly her mind filled with what she had heard on the tape she had found on McCormick's boat. Something had happened when Grissom had spent the night at Heather's and she hadn't wanted to believe what had been implied on the tape, suspecting that it was part of McCormick's evil plan.

She had always known there was a special bond between her husband and the ex-dominatrix but had been sure it was just friendship but now what was she to believe? The tape and the guilty look of horror on Heather's face when she realised Sara knew about her indiscretion, or her instinct and heart.

And now, Grissom was pushing her away. It was just too much for Sara to stomach. It was a slap in the face and all her past insecurities resurfaced in that instant. Her tears died instantly and resigned, she lifted her forlorn eyes back to him, dropping her arms by her side, her brown eyes searching his face for a sign – any sign – but he gave her nothing.

He had lain back down onto the pillow doing a poor job of pretending to be asleep. And even though his eyes were closed she knew from the rapid rise and fall of his chest, from the way his shoulders were slumped forward and his lips were pinched into a narrow line that he was withdrawing upon himself, miserably failing to overcome his inner turmoil.

Sara could only gape at him in disbelief. "Do you want me to call Dr Jimenez?"

He turned away uneasily. "No."

No. That one word uttered with so much vehemence sounded so final in Sara's ears that she knew the conversation was over, simple as that. She could tell by the sad, empty tone of his voice that he was resigned to his fate and to doing this alone. Backing down in defeat, she nodded her head in acceptance. She watched him a long time, waiting for him to speak again, to tell her that he was sorry, that he loved her and that he needed her.

When he didn't, she gave a short snort as she shook her head dejectedly. This was typical Grissom. He had done it before. Many times. He was shutting her out, shutting his feelings off and she walked toward the door in a trance, praying that he would call her back. When she realised he wouldn't, she could only hope that his self-imposed isolation was temporary.

Hand on the handle, still torn between her instinctive urge to comfort and be there for him, and her wanting to respect his need to be on his own, she turned round one last time slowly bringing her gaze up to stare at the back of his head. She gulped before saying in a quiet voice, "Gil, I understand you need to do whatever you feel right to overcome this. If it means pushing me away, then so be it. But always remember that Noah and I love you. We love you more than anything in the world and we'll always be there for you."

Sara rushed out of the room into the empty hospital corridor while, alone in his hospital bed, her husband crumbled under the weight of his heartache. Heartache over the loss of his leg but also over the hurt he was causing Sara.

Sara began to run aimlessly as a new wave of tears was pouring out of her eyes, blurring her vision. She needed some air; she needed to go as far away from there as possible. On the way, she knocked into Meredith who caught her by the shoulder stopping her flight.

"Mrs Grissom? Do you need help?" she asked in alarm already turning Sara around, headed back for Grissom's room. "Is everything all right with your husband?"

Sara's gaze was vacant and she shook her head miserably.

"Mrs Grissom? Sara?"

Sara slowly looked at the nurse. "He…wants to be left alone. He doesn't want me there…he…"

The nurse nodded in understanding. "I'll let Dr Jimenez know what's happening." She sighed. "He really didn't want you to break the news to Mr Grissom on your own but what is done is done. Sara, your husband is confused and angry right now and you took the brunt of his anger; he's only lashing out because he's hurting but he didn't really mean it…it's the shock." She took Sara by the shoulders. "Do you have somewhere to go? Do you want me to call you a cab?"

"No. I want to stay here. I want to be here for him. If I go, he'll think I'm abandoning him – again - because of what's happened. It doesn't matter to me that he's lost a leg. He's still the same man."

"I know," Meredith said. "I know." She led Sara toward the family room. "Come with me, I'll make you a cup of tea."

Sara nodded sadly before muttering to herself, "He's always been the one for me."

"He'll come round. He just needs a little time to process it all," she added comfortingly, rubbing gentle circles over Sara's back.

"You think so?"

The hope is Sara's voice was heartbreaking and the nurse smiled warmly. "I know so. Is there someone I can call for you?"

Sara looked up with tears in her eyes. "Would you?"

Meredith opened the door to the family room, which was empty and motioned Sara in. "I'll get a phone to you in a minute." She sat Sara down before making them both a cup of tea. "Milk and sugar?"

"Just sugar thanks."

The nurse sat down next to Sara, handing her the beverage. "I was a bit harsh on your friend yesterday morning," she whispered in confidence with a mischievous smile. "How's your little boy doing? Isn't he just a cutie?"

Sara couldn't help purse her lips into a small smile as she blew the steam off her tea. "He has his moments," she replied with glint in her eyes. _Just like his dad._

* * *

Tbc.


	47. Chapter 47

After a much deserved shower, Dr Jimenez finally made time after his rounds to pop his head round Grissom's door and he sighed knowingly on noticing his patient's imperceptible hopeful turn of the head toward the door as it opened and disappointed sigh on seeing the doctor there and not Sara.

"Not who you were hoping to see, am I?" the doctor asked kindly.

Grissom just shrugged a shoulder glumly and closed his eyes pretending to go back to sleep.

Dr Jimenez merely smiled and brought the chair nearer the bed to sit on. He sighed. "Gil, I'm…not Sara and you can't just push me away or pretend that I'm not there. Your tactics won't work on me. I know it's tough and I'm sorry Sara took it upon herself to tell you about this on her own rather than ask for help but she obviously did what she thought was best. And frankly I've come to realise you're as bad as each other at accepting help and support."

The doctor paused hoping his little jibe would get a reaction but when none came he just smiled mildly again and plodded on. "All right, then if that's how you want to play it. Well, I'm…just going to say what I have to say whether you like it or not." He leant forward in the chair and after a brief hesitation looked up toward Grissom and spoke decisively. "We both know what's bothering you here-"

"_Bothering_ me?"

"Gil, your amputation is all the more traumatic because it wasn't planned, it was totally unexpected. In most cases, amputations are the results of long-standing illnesses."

"At least, these…people had time to get used to the idea of being crippled."

"_These people_, Gil, are the same as you. They're frightened, sad and lost and have suffered a terrible loss and like it or not, losing a limb _is _a loss. But you're right, those patients had time to prepare themselves mentally for their loss and you are going to need to give yourself time to grieve as you would if you had lost a loved one."

The doctor took a deep breath and shifted uneasily in his seat. He tried to catch Grissom's eye, in vain. Grissom's eyes were darting all over the place but refused to meet the doctor's, who could only sigh as he continued, "I had absolutely no choice but to amputate mid-thigh. You have got to understand – and believe – that I did everything I could, everything in my powers to save your leg. I removed the old pins and attempted to insert a plate that would have, in time, fused the femur back together and held it in place but the nerve, muscle and tissue damage and blood loss was such that I couldn't restore the blood flow to the rest of the leg."

Grissom was shaking his head as though the doctor's words weren't registering, as though they didn't relate to him and his situation. He raised his hand and waved it weakly at his leg. "I still have these terrible cramps, these burning pains in my leg. I-"

Dr Jimenez nodded vehemently in understanding as he cut in, "And I know they feel very real Gil, but they're just phantom pains." He paused to let his words sink. "They're very common; in fact, eighty percent of amputees have them."

Grissom whipped his head round sharply and gaped at the doctor who just shrugged his shoulder in a matter-of-fact manner.

"Yes, that's right, Gil – am-pu-tee," he repeated placing particular emphasis on each syllable. "It's not a kind word but that's what you are. It's painful and sad and it's scary but it's the status quo and you're going to have to accept it."

The doctor shifted forward in his chair and out of the blue lifted the bed sheet in one swift movement, revealing Grissom's heavily-bandaged stump.

Taken by surprise, Grissom had no choice but to look at his leg, the disgust evident in his expression and feeling the bile rise from his stomach he quickly averted his gaze to curb the sensation but also hide his tears.

But Dr Jimenez had done this countless times before and he knew he had to be cruel to be kind. Acceptance was the first step to recovery and the earlier that happened, the better. Delaying the inevitable would not make it go away and would most certainly make it far worse as it would lull Grissom deeper into his state of denial.

Knowing his gesture had had the desired effect the orthopaedist pulled the sheet back up to cover the leg and reached out to place his hand on Grissom's arm in a comforting manner, keeping it there until Grissom had time to compose himself again.

"Gil, the pain in your lower limb isn't real," the doctor added after a while for emphasis, the compassion evident in his tone, "even though it feels pretty real to you. We believe that the longer your leg was injured before surgery, the more phantom pains you'll get and the longer they are likely to last. But it's perfectly common and we can easily treat them with anti-inflammatory medication – as you well know – and rehabilitation techniques. They _will_ disappear in time."

"How long?"

"It's hard to tell; weeks, months, we don't know. Every patient is different but as I said the medication helps."

"No. I meant how long until…until…" Grissom's breathing had gotten progressively slower and more laboured and the doctor got up to adjust the oxygen level feeding into the nasal tube.

"Is this better?"

Grissom gave a slow nod of his head as he took a few slow breaths.

"Until you walk again?"

Grissom blinked a few times, looking into the middle distance before looking down and shaking his head. "No. Until I can leave this place."

The doctor pulled a facial shrug. "It all depends on you. The jaw's feeling better, I can tell or you wouldn't be so… loquacious," he quipped kindly before lifting his brow at Grissom, who merely looked back unblinkingly. "Gil, provided you feel mentally ready and there is no infection in your leg, you could be out in a few days. In this respect, I'd like to move you into a post-op room as soon as a bed becomes available. Also, we're going to remove the feeding tube. You'll be getting a normal meal tonight."

The doctor waited for Grissom to protest to his suggestion or ask another question or show a reaction – any reaction but the latter had lapsed into a long silence again, seemingly lost in his own gloomy ruminations and looking increasingly downcast and defeated.

"You're not the type of man to shy away from adversity. Come on, Gil," the doctor said enthusiastically, "I want some of your fighting spirit back."

"Sara's the one with the fighting spirit," Grissom murmured almost inaudibly. "I'm just old and tired and now…forever crippled."

The doctor ignored Grissom's self-pity. "Shall I ask her to come? Really, she needs to be here; she should have heard all this."

"No. I don't want her here and besides, she's gone."

"Of course, she's not gone. She's outside waiting." The doctor let out a short impatient disbelieving snort. "You're both far too proud for your own good. And don't tell me her not being here isn't about your pride Gil because you don't fool me. You _are_ going to need her help."

"I don't want her to be with a cripple."

"You're not a cripple, you're-"

But Grissom wasn't listening; he was far too busy thinking of the reasons why Sara shouldn't be with him. "I don't want to have to rely on her for the rest of my life or for her to have to take care of me. She's still young; she deserves better from life."

"Isn't it her choice to make?"

"I don't want her pity."

"Good God, Gil, you're hard work! It's not about pity. It's about love. It's about being there for each other when the going gets tough and I can assure you it's going to get a lot tougher than this." Dr Jimenez got up, looked at Grissom and after a brief hesitation, gently lifted the sheet, folding it back to once more uncover the bandaged stump.

Grissom turned his head away, silent tears running down his face, powerless to stop it all from unravelling in front of him.

"Isn't _she_ allowed to make her own choices?" he repeated with as much kindness and patience as he could muster. The doctor sought Grissom's gaze, without success. He let out a small sigh. "Besides it's not going to be like this. I know it's still too early for you to be able to step back from this but-"

"I knew, you know?" Grissom shrugged and turned his head to look at the doctor in the eye for the first time. "Before she told me. Words kept bouncing in my head. It was like a dream, a recollection of what… _he_ did. I knew when it happened it had to be bad but it still doesn't make accepting it any easier." Grissom broke down but carried on talking through his pain. "But I still made her do it. I gave her no alternative. Sara's a strong person, stronger than me in a lot of ways; life's made her so. And selfishly I needed her to be the one to tell me, so that I could take my anger out on her and shift the responsibility."

Grissom's voice had been steadily rising and his breathing was becoming more ragged as a result but the doctor let him continue, content that Grissom was at last exteriorising his pain and venting his frustrations.

"What kind of person, what kind of man does that to the woman he loves, huh? What kind of husband does that make me? To want to hurt the only woman I've ever loved and who's loved me back unconditionally, just because I'm hurting? Just because I'm too much of a coward to…to-" Grissom stopped short, gasping for air and covering his face in shame.

The doctor moved and put his hand on Grissom's shoulder comfortingly and waited for him to calm, making a mental note to ask for a psych consult. "It doesn't show weakness to accept help, Gil, especially from your loved ones," he said softly. "I've spoken to Sara and she understands what you're going through. She certainly doesn't blame you for your reaction. But you're going to need her help and support and I'm not just talking physically here but her moral support too. You are _not_ going to be able to do this on your own; it's just not possible, in the beginning anyway." The doctor let out a long sigh. "I know it's not the same but how does this feel any different than when you injured your legs the last time?"

Grissom looked up abruptly with a baffled frown and wiped the tears off his face roughly.

"I read your medical file, Gil. I know what happened in Costa Rica. I know what you had to go through to be able to walk again, the wheelchair, the months of rehabilitation and the agony, the chronic pain since; you would have needed to rely on Sara then."

"This is different," Grissom mumbled glancing warily toward his still uncovered leg. This time he was able to look at it for a longer period of time before averting his gaze to the wall. "This time it can't go back to what it was."

"Because you lost a part of you? Sure, but you can do it again. You _will_ do it again. Prosthetics are so advanced these days. In a few months…" the doctor let out another sigh stopping himself mid-sentence, "but I'm getting ahead of myself here. Let's take one day at a time." He smiled at Grissom warmly and got up, tilting his head to the side to catch his patient's eye. "Shall I go and get Sara?"

Grissom rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and then shut them wearily. "No. There's just too much I need to think about; too much I need to work through. I don't know if there's a future for us now."

Dr Jimenez nodded, moving slowly toward the door and all things considered quite pleased with the progress Grissom had made on the first day. His reactions to the dreadful loss of his leg were totally normal and expected and the doctor would come back the next day with the next phase of Grissom's recovery.

"Well, that's your prerogative Gil," Dr Jimenez said quietly in acceptance of Grissom's decision, realising that it wasn't his place to counsel him on that front, "but if Sara's not going to be there to help, you're going to need somebody else. I can put you in touch with-"

Grissom's face was hard and the look he turned on the doctor steely, causing the latter to stop short, debating with himself whether he had crossed the patient/doctor boundary with his comments. Still, he stood at the door an instant before saying, "Gil, please don't make any decisions based on what you're feeling now. You're confused and hurting. You're still raw not only from your ordeal but also from the coma and the surgery you underwent and that's perfectly understandable." He paused, watching Grissom but his eyes were still closed and he remained silent. "Anyway, I'll come back when a bed's free for you in post op."

The door opened on to the orthopaedist, who stepped back making way for Al Robbins, who, in a hushed voice, quickly explained who he was and the reasons behind his visit. Dr Jimenez checked his watch before nodding his head and after recommending a short visit, left while Grissom desperately scrambled for the sheet to cover his leg with.

Al smiled at Grissom warmly, lifting his crutch in the air in greeting as he closed the door before making his way toward the bed. "Mind if I sit down?" he said leaning his crutch against the bed. "The lift's out of order so I'm a bit out of breath."

The gentle joke fell on death ear. "I've already been talked at enough today," Grissom mumbled gruffly, "so if that's what you've come for, I'd rather save you the bother."

Al smiled mildly, shrugging off his friend's gruff self-pity. "You're quite welcome," he said with a pleasant nod of the head, "but it's all right; I'm quite happy to just pass the time of day in silence." He paused as he made himself at ease on the chair. "I'm glad Sara called me, though. I honestly didn't think you would and personally, I'd have waited several more days before forcing my way into your room demanding we chat but…" Grissom sent a dark look toward the good doctor anticipating what was coming next and reading his friend's mind, Al swiftly changed tack, saying, "…it was time we caught up properly."

Exasperated, Grissom turned his head away. Yet Al could tell he had piqued his friend's curiosity with his mention of Sara and he laughed gently in good humour. If anything, he wasn't fazed by Grissom's dark mood and he certainly wasn't blaming him for it, for he knew from his own experience and also from that of people he had informally counselled through the Mutual Amputee Foundation, how tough these first few days in the hospital were, how easy it was to be overcome by depression and self-pity.

Al however didn't intend to mollycoddle his friend; dealing with his disability was going to take time and patience and tremendous hard work and even though he had every intention to be tolerant with Grissom and not rush him, it didn't mean that he had to walk on eggshells especially since he was an amputee himself. That knowledge had to weigh heavily in his friend's mind and Al was quite happy to use it to his advantage.

So, like the good chess player he was, he sat back in the seat stretching his legs in front of him, making a show of crossing one foot over the other and waiting for Grissom to make the next move. And as expected, it didn't take long for Grissom to ease a casual look toward the ME.

Al shook his head in amusement and decided to put his friend out of his misery. "You're so transparent Gil; it pains me to just watch you squirm under the weight of your guilt. And since you're too proud to ask, I'm going to tell you. I've sent Sara to the park across the road to wait for Noah and Catherine. She didn't want to leave the hospital but I said I'd stay with you – whether you liked it or not – until she got back. She really should be here and not me."

"Spare me the speech."

"Gil, I seem to remember a time when the roles were reversed and you refused to leave her hospital room until she was discharged."

"It's not the same."

"You're damn right it's not!" Al scratched his beard in irritation and took a deep breath, regretting his outburst. "She… didn't think you were ready for him just yet. You ought to be really proud of him Gil. He's a credit to you both and a smashing little boy. Judy and I spent the afternoon with him yesterday."

Grissom sighed wearily and rubbed his forehead and eyes tiredly.

Al wasn't going to play fair and wasn't afraid of using a mixture of tough love and underhand tactics to get his friend talking. "You're lucky Gil," he continued unrelenting, yet realising that talking about Noah and Sara was a touchy subject. Grissom's face creased into a deep bewildered frown at Al's choice of word and he whipped his head round to look at the ME questioningly. "You already have a wife and son. You have a career. Two in fact. Some of us had to manage all that _with _the disability. Some of us lost _both_ legs – it makes a tremendous difference."

Grissom hung his head humbly. "I'm sorry Al. I don't mean to imply that this is harder for me than it was for you and that-"

"I can't possibly know what you're going through? Oh, I know all right. I was twenty-one when that driver ran the light. Of course I understand. I had my life in front of me. I was at the start of medical school and all of a sudden I was lying in a hospital bed, pretty much as you are now, a self-pitying mess, this young virgin and I thought my life was pretty much over. What could a cripple, an amputee achieve? I remember thinking, obsessing about the fact that I'd most probably never get laid-" He paused with a frown and then burst out laughing, waggling his finger toward Grissom. "I know what you're doing and it's very clever. You're turning this around and getting me to talk about myself instead of you."

"It almost worked," Grissom said with a slight amused twist to his mouth.

Al scoffed. "Almost." His face turned serious again. "I can't tell you that it won't be an uphill struggle Gil because it wouldn't be fair or the truth."

"I just want to protect her."

Al's eyebrow met somewhere mid-forehead. This revelation was more than he could have hoped for and Al pulled a facial shrug as he thought about it. "You love her; you want to protect her. It's only natural. But protect her from what?" He paused. "Or are you protecting yourself?" he asked quietly. "You think Sara's not going to stick around?"

"No," Grissom replied categorically. "No. Not at all."

"What is it you're protecting her from, then? From this?" Al said with a vague wave toward the bed. "From pain? And how are you going to achieve that? By pushing her away? What McCormick did to you is horrible but she risked her life to save you. You should be having a chat with Jim, not me. The woman was prepared to die so you'd live."

Grissom's expression was pained and remorseful, shameful even and his voice a low whisper when he admitted, "I know." It was Al's turn to be left speechless and to his quizzical look, Grissom merely shrugged a shoulder. After a while in silence, Grissom spoke again. "I'm angry, Al. I'm angry inside. That bastard's destroyed everything I hold dear."

Al frowned, studying Grissom's profile. He looked remarkably calm considering the topic their conversation had shifted to – too calm and detached. Al didn't like it. Grissom was now staring into nothingness, eyes devoid of any emotion. "How do you mean?" he asked eventually.

Grissom seemed to ponder Al's question for a long time before answering. Eventually, he turned his head toward the ME and gave a slow shrug of the shoulder in uncertainty. "He didn't take away just my leg, Al. He took away a part of me that I won't get back. He robbed me of my well-being, my life; he's managed to do to me exactly what he promised he'd do to Sara. And now I'm a scared wreck dreading the future, terrified that as well as my leg, he's made me lose my family too."

Al was lost for words. God knew what Grissom had truly had to endure whilst at McCormick's evil hands. He didn't realise he'd lapsed into silence until Grissom spoke again his voice no louder than a fraught whisper.

"Oh, Al, what am I going to do?"

Al looked up, meeting Grissom's eye searching for the right words without mocking or belittling his friend's fears and yet he knew he needed to nip these ideas in the bud or else they'd slowly start to eat away at Grissom and do irreparable damage.

"First, you mustn't let yourself fall into that trap; the self-pity, over analysis of what's happened and depression, they're what would ultimately take away your livelihood and family," he said kindly and with a smile. "McCormick's in jail waiting for his comeuppance. He can't get to you anymore. You're stronger than to believe all that nonsense."

Grissom looked away uneasily and Al wondered whether he had been too tough and not compassionate enough. But his mother had been tough on him too when he had wallowed in his own self-pity for months after his accident and if he could save Grissom and Sara precious time then he'd speak his mind uncensored.

Al continued, "Then, you're going to take each day as they come; take all the help you can get and I'm afraid you're going to have to learn to swallow that pride of yours until you're able to cope on your own. And that day will come, I promise you. The wheelchair will become your best friend and then the crutches and ultimately you'll be a better man. Living without a limb is different Gil; it doesn't have to be worse. Look at it as a new beginning, the start of a new journey."

"I can't even bear to look at my leg with the bandage on, Al. I'm just repulsed thinking about it. How can I expect her to-" Grissom waved his hand in the air unable to finish his sentence.

"It will take time."

"What about Judy?"

Al frowned in puzzlement. "What about Judy? She's only known me the way I am now." He stopped to think about Grissom's question. "Oh, I know what this is about," he mused after a while. He smiled compassionately and Grissom's eyes filled with tears. "You might have to be more creative in that department, my friend but I did manage to…you know… eventually and have three beautiful kids as a result."

Grissom turned away, wiping his tears and sat back against the pillow lapsing into an awkward silence mulling over Al's words. He then sighed, running a tired hand over his eyes and Al took that as his cue to leave. The coroner checked his watch and got up gathering his crutch.

"What you've told me is in the strictest confidence Gil and I'm glad I could get you to open up a little."

"But?" Grissom provided stiffly.

Al smiled. "There _is_ no but. I won't mention any of it to Sara. It's not my place. I'll come by again tomorrow afternoon." There was no inflection to the ME's voice. It wasn't a question and he wasn't giving Grissom a choice in the matter either. It was a simple statement meant to show his support and intention. "You take care of yourself."

"Al?" Grissom called tiredly. The coroner turned with his hand on the handle and smiled at Grissom, but the latter was looking down toward his chest. "Can you tell everyone I want to be left alone?"

Al's smile died on his lips. "Everyone?"

Grissom glanced up meaningfully. "Everyone," he repeated desolately and making a dubious face in acceptance, Al nodded leaving without another word.

* * *

The prison truck transporting a solitary shackled and handcuffed McCormick to Clark County Jail pulled up in front of the big metal gates at exactly three pm. There were security cameras on both sides of the gate angled toward the truck. The one on the left rotated slightly to get a better view of the interior of the cab and zoomed in onto the driver. The latter wound down the window looking directly at the camera and nodded his head once in greeting.

The gates opened electronically and the truck drove into a small courtyard, stopping by the white line as the gates swung back shut. The driver used his baton to bang on the reinforced glass partition separating the cab from the rest of the truck to signal to his colleague that they had arrived. He stepped out of the truck and greeted the awaiting prison guard with a curt nod.

"The prisoner's all yours, Crooks," he said.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Sorry this chapter is so incredibly long. I'm still really not sure whether I got Al's voice right. But as the story is drawing to a close and there's still so much I want to cover, poor Grissom is having to cope with a lot in a short period of time.

A note of warning; this is almost it. I know I've said it before – many times some of you may argue – but this time it's definite. The next chapter _is_ the last one. I've even typed the words 'The End' already. There is an epilogue to come afterwards though…still a few loose ends to tie.

Also, the reason I mentioned Al Robbins was a member of the Mutual Amputee Foundation is because Robert David Hall, the actor who plays Doc Robbins, is a member in real life and does good work with the foundation. Just thought I'd let you know! And whilst I'm doing trivia, did you know Robert David Hall's and Doc Robbins's wives shared the same first name? I wonder if it's coincidental, just like Archie and Super Dave, keeping their own first names.


	48. Chapter 48

A/N: Jean, this one's for you. Thank you. I've taken the plunge…I'm in free fall, awaiting with bated breath…here goes, the last chapter. I hope you're not disappointed.

* * *

"Good morning, Gil," Dr Jimenez said as he entered Grissom's room with a nurse. Grissom thought the doctor's tone was far too bright. And they left the door open. Grissom wished he could just vent his fury and frustrations and slam the damn door shut. But that would have meant getting out of bed and, sadly, he felt incapable of doing it.

He felt more depressed after his talks yesterday with the orthopaedist and Doc Robbins. As per his wishes he had spent the rest of the day on his own and miserable. Both doctors' words had been plaguing his mind all day and all night. Consequently, Grissom had a fitful night's sleep in the post-op ward.

The memory of his mother and how valiantly she'd cope with her disability hadn't done anything to help his mood either. In his mind, he envisioned her looking down on him and shaking her head in disbelief and shame at his cowardice and inability to deal with life's challenges. She had taught him better. And Grissom realized at that moment unless he faced up to his fears he could never hope to be as good, as strong and as noble a role model to Noah, as his mother had been to him.

Noah and Sara were the most precious being in his life and Grissom took his role of father very seriously. When his mother had completely lost her hearing, life had been very different for her and for the rest of the family, too, but it hadn't been worse, far from it. He had shared a very privileged life with her, a very happy fulfilled life, enriched even because of it. And just as he and his father had learnt to live with the new her, had embraced the new her, he prayed with all his might that his family would too.

Knowing he still had company in the room, Grissom simply nodded at them to acknowledge their presence.

Both the nurse and doctor realized their patient was deep in thought. Dr. Jimenez hoped some progress, even a small bit, might be achieved today. "Jeanie here said you hardly touched your food last night. Your body needs nourishment if it is to fight any infection, Gil; you're going to have to do better than that if you want to get out of here." The doctor paused, and deciding not to waste any time asked, "How do you feel about using a bed pan?"

Grissom lifted his brow and snapped his head round towards the doctor, his eyes wide with embarrassment.

"I thought that'd get a reaction," Dr Jimenez continued in good-humour. "Well, in all honesty we need to get you moving a little." On noticing Grissom's visible distress at the suggestion, he smiled adding quickly, "Not far, just sitting at the edge of the bed, for now but while we're at it we might as well start as we mean to go on and take the catheter out."

Grissom gulped, closing his eyes resignedly. The orthopaedist waited a little while for Grissom to get used to the idea before gently sliding the sheet off Grissom's legs.

"If you're serious about getting out of here, the first thing you're going to have to learn is to get on and off the toilet by yourself." Grissom's sad, drawn out sigh said it all. "So the edge of the bed is a good start for today. The earlier we start, the better – if you're ready that is."

Grissom rubbed his face with both his hands, thinking back to the last words Sara had spoken to him.

"We'll get through this together… We're stronger than that…Always remember that Noah and I love you. We love you more than anything in the world and we'll always be there for you."

The emphasis being on 'We' and there, sitting in this hospital bed, Grissom realised that he had never felt so very alone. He had never needed her so much. Oh, how he wished she was at his side at this moment, holding his hand. How he wished he hadn't pushed her away. He needed her strength and support, her fighting spirit. He needed her love.

He sighed miserably.

At last, he raised his head and risked another look toward his missing leg thinking about the doctor's words for a moment and then he pinched his lips to stop them from quivering and in response dipped his head to indicate that he was ready, that he would do it. He lay back fully onto the bed, looking at the ceiling, his body tense while the nurse began to take out the catheter and clean him up. He slowly let his eyes drift shut as he concentrated on taking deep slow breaths, swallowing his pain with every single gulp of air, pain not brought upon by his injuries but by his aching heart. When she had finished her task Jeanie looked at the doctor, nodding.

The latter cleared his throat pulling Grissom out of his thoughts. "Jeanie, can you help Mr Grissom sit up fully?" To her nod, he added, "Gil, when you're ready, I'd like for you to shift forward a little and use your good leg to push against the bed to rotate your body toward me. Do you think you can do that?"

Grissom nodded bleakly and more or less let himself be swivelled round on the bed until his good leg was dangling off the side and the stump of his other leg sitting atop the mattress, uncovered. His face was dark, expressionless, his eyes lifeless and staring unblinkingly straight ahead toward the closed door as he self-consciously pulled the hospital gown down to cover himself.

"You see? That wasn't so hard," Dr Jimenez said brightly. Grissom's disbelieving snort was gruff and bad-tempered. The doctor waited a beat, studying his patient closely. After a moment's hesitation, he whispered kindly, "Shall I ask Sara in?"

Grissom turned his head, his eyes refocusing to meet the doctor's gaze. "She's here?" he uttered in amazed disbelief, tears suddenly brimming his eyes.

The doctor's lips curled into a heartfelt smile and he nodded his head very slowly.

Grissom wiped his tears and straightened up his shoulders. Whether it was done consciously or not didn't matter. He didn't need words to convey his relief; the undisguised happiness suddenly shining in his eyes, radiating from his battered body said it all.

But it was short-lived. While the nurse went to the door, motioning for Sara to come in, Grissom anxiously leaned to his right and stretched over, scrambling to pull the sheet back up over his legs. He dreaded Sara's first reaction. He knew she would try her hardest to conceal her emotions but her first reaction would be genuine and spontaneous and sadly he couldn't bear to see pity and disgust reflected in those beautiful eyes he loved so much.

As Sara was shutting the door quietly after her, Grissom slowly lifted his heartbroken face toward her, the fear and terror she had seen in his eyes the previous day still very much present and catching a glimpse of the shine of unshed tears in them it was all Sara could do to stop herself from crying and running into his arms.

But she remembered the doctor's quiet words spoken to her in the corridor before he had gone in – gentle words of warning about what he intended to do and also warning against overwhelming Grissom. "Act normally," he had said in conclusion, "or as normally as you can under the circumstances." The doctor had contacted her first thing in the morning and had asked her to come, choosing to disregard his patient's wishes. When Sara had asked him whether Grissom had specifically asked for her to be present, he had been unable or unwilling to lie, dashing any hopes Sara hankered of her husband's coming round. But it didn't matter. She would be there for him. Always.

Now Grissom was letting her back in. Her heart beating in her mouth, Sara mustered all her strength and forced herself to hold her husband's gaze. Despite the fact that she appeared to have had as much sleep as him, her facial injuries were healing quickly and she was looking a lot better than she had the previous day. The small tentative smile curling at her lips was so full of love and relief that Grissom couldn't help smile back, the ghost of a shy shaky and apologetic smile creeping over his lips and Sara knew he had taken the first step toward recovery.

She willed herself to be calm and strong as she rushed to his side, gently taking his face in her hands. She brought it close to hers, not breaking eye-contact before kissing him softly on the lips. "I am so sorry about yesterday," she murmured. "I did this all wrong."

"Just hold me; hold me tight," he replied tearfully and Sara wrapped her arms around him, drawing in a contented deep breath now he was back in her arms. "I'm sorry," he continued weakly. "I don't know how I'm going to do this. I don't know if I'm going to be strong enough-"

Sara stepped back, looked deep into his eyes and then she smiled softly. "_We_, Gil," she whispered, her smile wobbling a little. "_We_'ll be strong enough. _We_ can do this."

She ran her hand along the side of his face lovingly, keeping her eyes locked to his, conveying with them all that she couldn't say with words. Her hand then found Grissom's under the bed sheet and she squeezed it tightly, feeling the tremor there. He was tense and fraught and he stared back at her with fearful apprehension but also acceptance.

Grissom took a long couple of breaths and nodded slightly, gripping her hand tighter, pressing so hard that his fingernails were digging into her skin as he fought to control his emotions. Yet, Sara didn't feel any pain. All she felt was the immense pride and love she carried in her heart for her husband, who in so little time was already accomplishing so much.

Sara turned toward the doctor and with one last glance toward Grissom she motioned with her head that they were ready to take the next step. Keeping a strong hold of his hand, Sara sat on the bed next to Grissom, facing the doctor.

The doctor pulled back the sheet once again, revealing the leg – or what was left of it – and although she was trying her hardest not to let it affect her, Sara's breath caught in her throat and she let out a soft gasp. Her eyes filled with spontaneous tears and she wiped at them roughly, furiously, willing herself to stop crying, angry with herself for not being able to show more self-control. She glanced at Grissom from the corner of her eye thinking that he would be looking at his leg or at the doctor but he wasn't.

Grissom was intently watching her with tears in his eyes too, trying to read the reaction on her face but all he could see reflected there was sadness, love and compassion. There wasn't a trace of pity or repulsion as he had feared. He reached over with his free hand to wipe each of her cheeks in turn with his thumb but he couldn't curb the rapid flow of her tears and he smiled at her so tenderly that Sara's crying intensified into sobs. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders protectively before softly kissing her on the temple, keeping his lips there, maintaining the contact, the connection as he rested his forehead to the side of her head while she cried.

"It's okay to cry," he whispered lovingly, his warm lips on her skin as he felt her shake. "Don't fight it; just let it all out. I love you so much."

Grissom's heartfelt words had the effect of halting her crying and Sara sniffed a few times, wiping the sleeve of her top to her eyes before turning her face to him. She gave a slow nod of the head to his words and curled her lips into a small pinched grateful smile. She then glanced at the doctor before bringing her gaze down toward the still-bandaged stump, biting her lip nervously and tentatively reaching out a hand to it, stroking the top of his exposed thigh before settling her fingers just over the bandage where the leg had been amputated.

Grissom recoiled at her touch at first but Sara kept her hand there, gently caressing the area until she felt him relax. And just as when she had held Noah for the first time in that hospital room in San Jose and had instinctively known what to do, she let her instinct once more guide her. She looked over to her husband and with a shy smile took his hand in hers and repeated the gesture, their hands making one.

Grissom attempted to draw his hand back, pinching his lips to hide how hard he was finding it to cope before finally averting his gaze to the floor in defeat. He just couldn't do it.

Sensing his inner turmoil, Sara tightened her hold on his hand and brought it to her lap. She turned his hand, which was balled into a stiff fist, and gently eased each finger open until his hand lay relaxed in hers. All the time she was watching his face, watching his every reaction, the myriad of conflicting emotions reflected into his every feature and when he dared look up at her, she saw gratitude and love in his eyes and she smiled bringing his hand up to her cheek, leaning into it for comfort as she closed her eyes. They remained a moment like this, motionless, in a world of their own, enjoying the close contact.

After a while, Sara blinked her eyes open and silently asked him whether he was ready to take the next step. To his small nod, she lowered their hands down to his leg again but stopped herself wondering whether she was moving to fast.

"Please, Sara. Don't stop," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

She looked up to catch his eye but his gaze was fixed on their joined hands, which she slowly guided down onto his leg. She felt Grissom's short pained gasp more than heard it and when she looked at him slow silent tears were running down his face.

"I'm so proud of you, Gil," she told him quietly. "I love you so much."

Dr Jimenez watched the exchange between Sara and Grissom with a smile on his face. "Well, I think it's enough for today," he said with a glance toward the nurse.

Grissom startled as though he had forgotten about the doctor's presence in the room before looking up with a confused frown, wiping his tears. "Is that all?"

The doctor snorted in disbelief. "What do you mean, 'is that all'? Only yesterday, you couldn't bear to look without averting your eyes."

Grissom quickly turned his head toward Sara to see her stare back at him, mirroring the doctor's surprised expression. He shrugged a shoulder in hesitation as though wordlessly asking for her agreement.

"Gil, you need to do what's right for you," she whispered in reply to his suggestion, smiling softly. "If that's what you want, then I'm here, holding your hand."

Grissom smiled back hesitantly, his eyes searching hers and then he nodded his head at the doctor.

"I'm ready. I'd like to…" He took a deep breath. "Can I try to stand up?"

The doctor lifted his eyebrows quizzically at Grissom who was staring down at his leg with determination, before flicking his gaze to Sara who simply shrugged her go-ahead.

"Are you sure?" Dr Jimenez asked.

"I'm sure. I'm-" Sara squeezed his hand and he smiled at her before amending, "_We_'re ready."

* * *

"Hey," Catherine said quietly several hours later, as she popped her head round Grissom's door after giving it a gentle knock. Noticing that Grissom was asleep, she smiled and stepped in fully, Noah grinning happily in her arms, proudly displaying thewhite peak of his first tooth.

Sara looked up from reading the brochure Jeanie had kindly given her on 'Dealing with the trauma of amputation' and smiled back at Catherine. On seeing Noah, her face softened even more and she got up opening her arms to him.

"Is this a bad time?" Catherine asked in a hushed whisper as Sara lifted Noah to her.

"No. No," she told Catherine. "Your timing couldn't be better." She then tuned her attention to her son and ruffled his hair. "Hello, precious," she cooed, pulling him close to snuggle up to him. "I've missed you so much. Have you been a good boy for Catherine?"

"He's been a very good boy for Auntie Cath, haven't you sweetie?" Catherine replied as she tickled the back of Noah's exposed leg, causing a little squirm of delight. "We had a great time at the mall, didn't we?"

Sara laughed joyfully. "The mall?" she said with an inquisitive arch of her brow as she stroked Noah's nose playfully. "Catherine – _Auntie Cath_," she amended with a dubious pout, "took you to the mall, did she? Did you like that?"

Catherine chuckled. "It was either that or being referred to as his grandmother by all the strange _old_ ladies randomly accosting us. Anyway, the least said about that the better." She paused and pulled one of Noah's socks up. "How are you? You look so much better than you did yesterday!"

"Thank you Catherine," Sara replied with laughter in her voice. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one."

Sara smiled and tuned her head to watch her husband. "I'm fine," she eventually said and Catherine had the feeling that this was one of the rare few times when Sara really meant the word. "I'm good. Really good."

Catherine nodded, turning her gaze toward Grissom too. "And Gil?"

"He's doing a lot better." As she uttered the words, Sara was shaking her head in disbelief at the quick turnaround of the situation. "He's been fantastic, actually," she added her voice full of undisguised love and pride.

"I take it, since you're here, he's come round?"

Sara nodded keeping her eyes on Grissom. She then smiled to herself thinking back to how much he'd achieved in such a short period of time and she couldn't help the tears of happiness and relief from welling in her eyes. She turned her head toward Catherine and let her tears fall unhidden. "I'm so proud of him, Catherine," she said her voice cracking.

Catherine smiled warmly and wrapped an arm around Sara's shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. "He's strong. He's going to be okay. He's a survivor, just like you," she added very quietly.

Noah who all this time had been content to suck and chew on Sara's pendent started to whimper in Sara's arms and wriggled round so he too was facing Grissom. He lunged forward as though diving for his father but Sara managed with some difficulty to keep a firm hold of him. "Daddy's sleeping, sweetheart," she told the little boy sweetly. "I know you want to see him but he needs to rest; you can give him a cuddle when he wakes up, okay? Did you remember to bring your little present for him?" she then asked.

"We did, didn't we?" Catherine replied with a smile and a gentle tickle to Noah's plump neck. "That's why we went to the mall actually." To Sara's dubious face, she added, "It's a surprise, for the two of you. I hope you won't mind."

"What won't we mind?" came a weak voice from the hospital bed. Grissom cleared his throat as he rubbed his face. "That all my favourite people are in the same room together?"

"Hey…" Sara said moving nearer the bed. "Look who's here to see you."

Grissom's face immediately lit up on seeing Noah and he tried to sit up but didn't quite manage and Catherine rushed to his side, passing him the remote to raise the head of the bed up. When he was comfortable, he tilted his head to the side, a fond smile forming on his lips as he watched Noah in his mother's arms and tears pooled in his eyes.

"He's changed so much, in so little time," he whispered in wonderment with a quick look at Sara.

She nodded a big grin on her face. "That elusive first tooth has finally poked through," she then replied proudly.

"Come here, little man," he then murmured opening his arms. "Let me see." Sara carefully lowered a bewildered Noah onto the bed and sat him next to Grissom, who very emotional pulled the little boy into a tight embrace. "Come and give daddy a big cuddle." Grissom was clutching Noah to his chest as though his life depended on it, rocking them both softly, his face burrowed in his son's neck. "I've missed you so much!"

Catherine watched affectionately father and son rediscover each other and she swallowed the lump in her throat when she noticed Grissom's shoulders shake slightly as overwhelmed with emotion, he cried into the little boy. She never thought of herself as particularlysentimental and yet the scene unfolding before her was heart-warming and humbling, especially after all the upheaval and heartache of the past week.

And as she witnessed a side of Grissom she'd never glimpsed at before, the caring, doting father, she knew instantly that he was a wonderful father. She wiped a rogue happy tear from the corner of her eye as she watched Sara perch on the edge of the bed and wrap her arms around her family, holding her husband and son in a tight embrace. Catherine couldn't help smile at the sight of the finally-reunited family, a family Grissom had built for himself. He had upped the ante, all right, she mused with a sigh. The bond between the three of them was all-encompassing, awe-inspiring even, in its intensity and Catherine suddenly felt happy. She was simply happy, knowing that her best friend would be fine. That he had enough love in his life to weather anything the future would throw at him.

So it was with great regret that Catherine fished Noah's present out of her purse, gently put it on the bed and leaving the boy's change bag behind, slipped out of the room unnoticed, quietly closing the door on them.

They remained as one for a while longer until Noah became restless and tried to wriggle free. Grissom shifted in the embrace, releasing Noah but nuzzling closer to Sara. "Thank you," he breathed softly in her neck.

Sara frowned in puzzlement and pulled back while Noah took the opportunity to crawl away from them. "What for?" she asked.

Grissom shrugged hesitantly, smiling. "For this," he said with a nod toward Noah. "For not judging me. For loving me."

Sara was lifting her hand to his face when she caught sight of Noah clambering over Grissom's good leg to reach the other side, intent of grabbing the small packet Catherine had left for them. She moved quickly in alarm. "No, Noah. You mustn't do that. Daddy's-"

"Leave him, Sara. Leave him; he's fine. He's not doing any harm. He doesn't understand. He doesn't know what's happened. It must have been hard on him too those last few days." He stopped talking, watching fondly as Noah got discovering his new finding by bringing it to him mouth. "Al made me realise something," he continued before shaking his head, laughing nervously at his next admission. "My mother too, actually."

"Your mother?"

Grissom nodded, sighing. "He said I was lucky. Only he could get away with saying that, huh?" he mused with a snort of laughter. "But I guess he's right; I am lucky. Despite what's happened, I'm still here. I still have you and Noah with me. You're the two most important, most precious people in my life."

Sara smiled shyly at first and then grinned cheekily. "For better or worse Gil, remember? That's what we promised each other."

Grissom swallowed the lump in his throat. "I know."

"I love you Gil. Don't ever forget it."

* * *

"_And in other news on Channel Eight this evening …_

"_The body of Stephen McCormick, forty-nine of the Winchester area of Las Vegas was found hanged in his prison cell late yesterday afternoon in Clark County Jail. McCormick had earlier been formerly charged with two counts of abductions and unlawful detentions and one count of attempted murder. Under the advice of his attorney, Michael Kent, McCormick had entered a plea of diminished responsibility due to temporary insanity. _

"_You may recall almost three weeks ago the whole state of Nevada was on the look-out for missing five-year-old Alison Kessler who was kidnapped from Sunset Park by McCormick with the help of a female accomplice, one Valerie Samms who is currently awaiting trial for her part in the kidnapping and unlawful detention of the little girl at the Fallbrook women's correctional facility. Little Alison Kessler was later found unharmed but severely traumatised by her ordeal. _

"_In the course of the police investigation into the abduction, ex-nightshift supervisor of the Las Vegas crime lab, Dr Gilbert Grissom was also abducted by McCormick. He was later found left for dead on McCormick's yacht on Lake Mead and was taken to Desert Palm Hospital where he is recovering from his injuries and we understand making good progress. You may recall Dr Grissom was involved in a plane crash almost a year ago in Costa Rica._

"_McCormick was apprehended by Captain Jim Brass of the Las Vegas Police. Both Captain Brass and Sheriff Burdick declined to comment on the circumstances of the arrest and also on McCormick's tragic death in jail, except to say that the LVPD, Crime lab and correctional service were investigating the matter. It is believed that McCormick was injured at the time of his arrest and it begs to wonder whether he was given adequate medical care and whether he should have been placed in a secure hospital rather than incarcerated. It is the third death in jail in Clark County this year and one wonders if the rules regarding inmates' well-being and safety should be looked at._

"_A reliable source has informed Channel Eight that the prison doctor who pronounced McCormick dead believes it was suicide, but this still remains to be confirmed by the coroner's office. McCormick allegedly hanged himself using his prison-issued bed sheet tied to the metal bar of his prison cell door. We understand McCormick wasn't sharing a cell and there were no witnesses or security cameras covering inside the cell. More remarkably, he was bare-chested when he was found and the words 'Sweet Dreams' were inscribed in blood on his chest. Our source couldn't confirm whether McCormick had written his suicide note himself and whether the blood used was his own." _

The sound of the television was very low and although Sara had kept her eyes fixed on the framed collage of photographs Catherine had given them as a gift throughout the news report, she had been listening intently to every single of Paula Francis's word. All of a sudden, she looked up from the photo with a frown, as Paula Francis's voice morphed into McCormick's. _"Would you like to see, check for yourself?" _he was saying almost intimately as though addressing her and her only.

Sara cast a worried glance toward Grissom but he was unaware, sleeping soundly in his hospital bed and then she slowly turned her head to the TV screen, gaping at it in disbelief. The female newsreader's face flicked to a Polaroid picture of McCormick's dead body hanging limply in his prison cell, with the bed sheet noose tight around his neck. The wicked smirk had been wiped off his face and his eyes were wide-open staring straight back at Sara. They were empty, cold and dead and when she looked down to his torso she could clearly make out the words 'Sweet Dreams' in blood. Sara clenched her eyes shut tightly, shaking her head to rid herself of the vision and when she reopened her eyes and looked back at the screen, McCormick was gone and Paula Francis was back on, smiling.

Sara got up from her chair to switch the TV off. The room became very dark without the flickering images on the screen but a strange calm and peace permeated the room.

McCormick had gotten what he deserved after all.

A satisfied smile crept over Sara's face and she inhaled deeply before letting out a long contented and relieved sigh. They could start to rebuild their lives now and look forward to the future without having to relive their ordeal every day, worrying about testimonies, lengthy trials and years of uncertainty before any type of retribution could be achieved.

Sara walked back to her husband and stood by the bed, watching him sleep for a long moment with tears in her eyes. She smiled warmly, her heart bursting with the love and pride she felt for him. She knew they had a long road ahead of them but she was full of confidence that they would prevail. She bent down over him and gently laid her cheek against his. She breathed slowly and deeply, her eyes closed and after a while she whispered softly the words he had spoken to her the previous day.

"It's going to be okay." She turned her head to brush her lips lovingly to his cheek. "We're going to be okay. It's all over now."

* * *

The End.

A/N: Oh, I so hope you're not disappointed with the ending! So many times I've read and loved a story only to be disappointed with the ending. I truly hope this is not the case. Skip the other author's note if you want, it's very long but remember to leave a REVIEW even if you've never done it before. It's never too late and I would be delighted! If you're reading the story in a month's time or even next year, then please leave a review and tell me what it's like to read it in one uninterrupted block. Oh, and also, there's an EPILOGUE to follow…shortly.

* * *

A/N 2: Oh my God! Oh my God! I never thought I'd get there. At the beginning this story only had twenty chapters and it grew and kept growing because of you. All of you, out there in cyberspace. I want to thank all the readers of course but most importantly all of you, loyal reviewers who took the time to leave a comment, send a pm, encourage and, voluntarily or not, give me ideas on how to develop this thing. Without all your wonderful continued feedback, I know I couldn't have done it.

THANK YOU! From the bottom of my heart, thank you. If you have put the story in your favourites, thank you. If not, do it now! I have thoroughly enjoyed writing it and am tremendously proud of my achievement – it's all mine!

There are a few people I need to single out in my praise for their amazing support, very valued contribution to my pool of ideas, their kicks up the backside when I doubted myself and for allowing me to use them as sounding boards…I'm sorry if I've missed anybody out…the incredible JellybeanChiChi (for _everything_ but most importantly keeping me focused on the most important thing – keeping Grissom alive when I fancied another outcome and inadvertently suggesting I amputate his leg instead), Moonstarer (for looking out for holes in the story and mistakes and Britishisms – which I know the story is full of – and helping me keep the story 'real') and Kalsan (for her many outspoken Aussie pep talks every time I doubted myself) but also Phoebep whose incredibly detailed, comprehensive and praising reviews have brightened many a dull morning, have made me question myself and the direction the story was taking and have made my heart thump a merry dance every time.

Shit...I'm shaking...that's not good...What am I going to do with myself now? **sigh**


	49. Epilogue

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long to put together. But here it is…

* * *

Epilogue.

* * *

Sara parked the rental VW Passat wagon in the street, outside the Robbins's ranch style house and cut the engine. She turned to smile at Grissom. His shoulders were slumped forward, his jaw tense, his gaze lacklustre and staring straight ahead through the windshield.

"Come on," she said, unbuckling her seat belt, "we're already late as it is. Let's go and see everyone."

Although she sounded bright enough, Grissom knew Sara felt as wary as he was about going to this little get-together, even though only their closest friends would be present. She was getting out of the car when he put his hand on her arm holding her back.

Sara turned hesitantly and shifted on the seat. On seeing the worry in his eyes, she reached over and brushed her hand along his bearded cheek very gently. "Don't you want to do this?" she asked. "I'm sure Al and Judy would understand if you'd rather we went back to Jim's. They'd…"

Grissom shook his head slowly at her suggestion, silencing her and smiled nervously. "It's something else. I've been meaning to talk to you about it for a while now but…I'm not sure…" He clenched his eyes shut tightly as though in pain.

"Gil, are you feeling okay?" she asked with evident anxiety. "Did you take all your pain meds?"

He nodded softly, reopening his eyes and smiled tenderly at her concern. He sighed looking down, took her hand with his and played nervously with her fingers as he chose his next words carefully. He knew he should have been brave enough to fess us to what had happened at Heather's sooner but they had had so much to cope with already he had kept putting it off. Now, he had no choice. He had to tell her. And he had to do it now.

Keeping his gaze on the wedding band on her finger, Grissom took in a deep breath. "You know," he began shakily, "the last few minutes on that boat just before…McCormick…" Grissom ran his hand across his face and sighed. "God, how can I say this without-" he muttered to himself with evident frustration and Sara braced herself for what she knew had been a while coming.

Grissom then forced himself to look her in the eye. "Did…they find a tape…on the boat? A recording?"

"No," Sara replied without a second's hesitation, "they didn't." Grissom nodded with a relieved sigh but was badly prepared for her next words. "I did."

He gasped, his eyes pooling with spontaneous tears. He looked down attempting to hide his disarray and rubbed his eyes with both hands.

Sara continued, "I took it before anyone saw it." She pinched her lips to hide her pain and Grissom looked up. "After getting that…Polaroid he sent me," her voice cracked and she paused to take a deep breath while Grissom reached out to wipe a tear, "I had a feeling the tape was another one of his sick games," she continued softly. "Something he said to me on the boat…" Sara closed her eyes as images of what happened filled her mind.

"Have you listened to it?"

Sara squeezed her eyes shut tighter, releasing more tears and then turned her head away.

Grissom didn't need words to know she had. He let out a drawn out sigh. "None of it's true," he murmured hoarsely. "Well, I did… spend the night with her but nothing happened. You got to believe that, Sara. I would never, never-"

Sara blinked more tears and brought her finger to his mouth. "Ssshhh. I know. I trust you."

Grissom nodded. He leaned over to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, using the thumb of the other hand to wipe her tears. "I love you, Sara. Always remember that." He kissed her on the temple and pulled back.

They remained close for a moment and then Sara pulled away, glancing toward the back seat. She was edgy. Catching sight of the folded wheelchair was gut-wrenching but she swallowed her pain and checked on Noah, who was still fast asleep. She then checked her pasty reflection in the rearview mirror and wiped the smudged area around her eyes with her fingers. She looked over her shoulder toward the Robbins's house and was about to get out of the car when she unexpectedly turned toward Grissom. "Why now?" she asked abruptly.

"Excuse me?"

"Why tell me now? Just before we're to see our friends." His deer-caught-in-headlights face said it all and Sara shook her head despondently. "She's going to be there, isn't she?"

The nod he gave her was so small Sara wondered whether she had imagined it. But there was no mistaking the helpless, hapless look he furtively cast in her direction. "She's coming along with Jim," he murmured by way of explanation breaking the lengthy awkward silence.

"Well, that's just perfect."

"Sara, nothing happened," he said despairingly.

"I know!" she snapped angrily. She took a deep breath and repeated more quietly, "I know. It doesn't mean that I've got to like the woman or what's happened – or not – between you."

"Sara, we don't have to go if-"

"Yeah, we do," she cut in, opening her door effectively putting an end to the conversation. _We need to put all this behind us once and for all_, she wanted to add but didn't. She swung her left leg out of the car and stopped, closing her eyes wearily. "I'll get Noah."

"Sara?" Grissom whispered, softly grabbing her by the arm before she had a chance to flee. "Are we all right?" The fear in his voice was heartbreaking.

Sara didn't turn to look at him when she gave him a terse nod of the head. "We will be."

* * *

Grissom was using the wheels to push himself round to the back of the Robbins's property on the smooth, wide concrete path. He had a blanket draped over his legs, a bunch of flowers over the top. He had refused Sara's offer of help and she walked several paces behind him, carrying a still sleeping Noah in his car seat.

Sara couldn't help noticing the various easy-access ramps, grab rails and side handles fixed near doors and passageways, or the lack of steps and gravel anywhere. She took in Al's well-loved customised Volvo parked in front of the double garage and made a mental note of all the adjustments that would need to be made to their house in Sunnydale. Overwhelmed by the thoughts swirling in her minds, Sara stopped abruptly, set Noah's car seat down noisily on the path and rubbed her aching arm.

Grissom turned round in the wheelchair peering over his shoulder. On noticing she had stopped, he attempted a clumsy U-turn and cursed under his breath. "Honey? We really don't have to do this,if you don't want to."

Sara made herself smile. "No, no, I want to. Noah's getting heavy, that's all."

Grissom studied her for a moment and nodded choosing to ignore the blatant lie. "We won't stay long."

Sara nodded distractedly, her eyes on Noah. The little boy smiled dreamily in his sleep and Sara's lips pursed into a wistful smile as she picked him up. She looked up, catching Grissom's gaze. Her smile widened when she noticed the worry in his eyes and she reached out a hand to his shoulder in reassurance. "I'll be fine," she told him as convincingly as she could.

As they rounded the corner, it was Grissom's turn to stop abruptly. It would be the first time since getting out of the hospital that he would see all his friends at once. The thought suddenly overwhelmed him.

Sara caught up with him and slipped her hand in the crook of his neck in silent comfort. He peered up at her and smiled stiffly. She smiled back in understanding, nodding him along in encouragement.

Grissom hesitated and taking a deep breath, he cautiously set off toward the patio to meet their friends. Al, Nick and Greg were too busy chatting to notice his arrival. The others by all appearances hadn't made it yet. Grissom registered another split second of hesitation but Al caught his eye, smiled and waved his beer can in greeting. He waved him over, standing up.

"I honestly didn't think you'd be showing up," he said in a mild tone his gaze flicking between Sara and Grissom. He clasped his hand over his friend's shoulder warmly. "Shall I get you a drink?"

"Make it a soft one."

"Sara?"

"Me too, thanks Al." She stepped forward and grabbed the grocery bag slung over the handles of Grissom's wheelchair. She took out a bottle of wine and held it out. "It's not much-"

"It's perfect," Al said his tone full of warmth and understanding as he took the bottle from her. He studied the label and smiled. "Only you would remember Judy's favourite."

Sara smiled genuinely. "Thanks for doing this Al."

"We couldn't let you go back home without the promised roast lamb," he replied with a smile directed especially at Grissom. "Don't worry Judy's not forgotten about you," he then told Sara before moving to the table to pour Sara and Grissom their drinks.

Greg and Nick both stood up and hugged Sara in turn. Greg bent down to greet Noah who was yawning himself awake. He glanced at Sara asking permission to take him out of the seat and when she nodded he happily obliged with a 'Come and say hello to Uncle Greg and Uncle Nicky'.

"Sara, Judy's in the kitchen," Al then told Sara meaningfully, passing her drink.

Sara looked at Al and smiled in understanding. She took the proffered beverage and the flowers from Grissom's lap. "I'll go say 'Hi' then." She quickly glanced at her husband; he looked remarkably more relaxed than he had five minutes previously and Sara felt comfortable that he would be fine without her for a short while. She arched her brow at him, enquiring whether he was happy left in charge of Noah.

He nodded with a smile and reached out to squeeze her hand. "Don't worry about me," he said reassuringly, "I'm in good hands."

Sara turned toward Greg and Nick and made sure Noah was happily settled. She then entered the house, following the sound of music playing on the radio toward the kitchen. She rasped her knuckled on the open door and Judy turned round, a welcoming smile forming on her lips at seeing Sara. She reached over to the shelf and switched the music off.

"Sara! How good to see you!" The two women smiled and embraced briefly. "I'm so glad you could make it. Catherine called. She's running late, I'm afraid." She motioned for Sara to take a seat at the island unit. Sara gave her the flowers and the older woman thanked her with a smile. "I see Al made you a drink?"

"He did." Sara sat down and looked around the kitchen. "Can I do anything to help?"

"No. It's all under control. I hope!" she replied in good-humour, reaching in a cupboard for a vase that she swiftly filled with water. Noticing Sara's slightly cautious look, she added hesitantly, "Maybe you could…cut up some carrots into some sticks for the dips?" Sara smiled her reply. The smile Judy returned was warm and knowing and she moved to the fridge to take out some carrots. "When are you going back to San Francisco?" she asked casually. "Al wasn't sure."

"Gil wants to leave as soon as possible," Sara answered with a shrug. "We're staying at Jim's tonight and setting off at dawn tomorrow morning."

Judy handed Sara a knife, a chopping board and the carrots and sat down across from the younger girl. "Are you flying back?" she asked the bewildered concern evident in her tone.

"No," Sara reassured with a quick smile. "I thought it best not to." Judy nodded earnestly; they would come across enough hurdles without creating more for themselves – the crowds, stairs, long delays and curious stares were best avoided at first. "We've hired a car," Sara stated as she carefully sliced into a carrot.

"It's a long way to drive on your own, Sara," Judy said, leaving out with a young child and a disabled husband.

"I'll be fine; I've done it before."

Judy smiled pleasantly. "You've obviously thought this through. The practical hurdles at the beginning seem insurmountable but in time they smooth themselves out. The emotional ones will be harder." She paused, watching Sara. "How is he doing?"

Sara carefully put the knife down. "Physically, he's been fantastic. He's healing well and after his…initial reticence, he's worked really hard to be able to get out of the hospital." She smiled, the pride radiating from her evident as she spoke. "He's managing most things on his own now – with the wheelchair, of course." Her expression soon shifted to sadness and she lifted her shoulders in a small helpless shrug. "He tries to put on a brave face but emotionally, not so good really. He's guarded, distant…" She sighed. "No, not distant, just more withdrawn, and introspective." She snorted slightly at her words. "More so than recently anyway."

Sara needed to talk and Judy realised it. It was clear that she hadn't had the opportunity to speak to anyone about any of this. She couldn't share her burden with Grissom either; he had enough to cope with his rehabilitation without her insecurities adding to his load.

"I don't know what's eating him up the most," Sara continued a little despondently now. "The anger over the loss of his leg, the nightmares over what McCormick put him through or the fact that the bast-, that he died without proper retribution." She paused, debating with herself whether she should continue.

Judy was smiling encouragingly at her and feeling lighter for offloading, Sara carried on with her monologue. "It's strange really. I thought McCormick's death would help him get some closure but somehow it's had the opposite effect. He hasn't told me as much but I think he feels robbed of the opportunity for face-to-face justice. You know what I mean?" Judy nodded and Sara added shrugging helplessly, "I've tried talking about it with him but he doesn't want to. To me anyway. He's just bottling it all up."

"He's coping the only way he knows how. You got to be patient, Sara. Gil's a good man and I'm sure he's grateful for what you're doing. You're there for him and ultimately that's what counts."

Sara smiled gratefully. "His eyes have lost their sparkle." She looked down self-consciously, trying to hide the tears shining in her eyes. "The only times I see him truly relaxed and unguarded, or laugh even is when he's with Noah."

"That's because with him, he allows himself to be himself."

Sara nodded. "I know all that but…" She bit her bottom lip anxiously. How could she confess without sounding selfish that she felt sidelined? That she was also hurting about what had happened? That she had also lost a part of her on that boat? And that what she had heard on the tape bothered her more than she cared to admit even to herself?

Judy reached over and squeezed Sara's arm comfortingly. "Have you been to see a psychiatrist?"

Sara shook her head softly. "We were waiting until we got home."

"What about you Sara?" Judy asked. "You've talked about how tough it is for him – and it is – but I know Sara, from experience, how tough it must be for you too. You hurt to see them hurt and broken and no one thinks to ask you how you're doing."

Sara got up and went to stand in front of the stove, her back to Judy. She picked up the wooden spoon and distractedly began stirring the vegetables, her eyes blurring with tears she couldn't keep in anymore.

Judy got up to fetch a small card from the counter. She placed it near the stove in plain view of Sara. "This is the number of a friend of mine; someone I've known a long time. She lives in San Francisco. She'd be delighted to get a call from you, Sara." She paused and gave Sara time to glance at the card with the name, address and phone number of a counsellor for The Amputee Coalition of America.

Sara used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe her cheeks. "I try, Judy. I really do. I try to be strong, to keep a brave face, for the two of us but it's just so damn hard." She turned round abruptly. "I know it's tougher for him still but-" her shoulders shook and tears began streaming down her face.

Judy wrapped an arm around the younger girl's shoulders and just held her, letting her cry.

Sara continued talking through hiccup-filled sobs. "I lock myself in the bathroom, Judy. I hide. I can't bear for him to know I'm not strong enough. I don't know if I can do this Judy, and I can't tell him any of this because…because I'm ashamed. He's being so brave…and I-" Sara was panting, gasping for air and she broke down.

Judy turned her and let her cry into her shoulder, rubbing her hand over her back soothingly. "It's okay, Sara. I still feel like this after all these years and I didn't even know Al before his accident." She paused and smiled. "Why do you think Al and I take separate vacations every year? Honey, what you're feeling is normal, natural. It's part of the healing, of the grieving process. It doesn't show weakness on your part. It shows humanity. It means you care, you love, you feel."

Judy pushed Sara back a little and looked up to catch her eye. "Please, give Monica a call. She's been through the same thing and she's an excellent therapist."

Sara nodded and picked up the card.

Judy moved back and leaned across the kitchen counter to grab a tissue, which she handed to Sara. She watched Sara for a moment, hesitating to voice one more thought. When Sara had finished blowing her nose, Judy pinched her lips and took a deep breath. "I hope I'm not overstepping the mark here but have you given any thought to…have you considered that maybe," she sighed, "you should move back to Vegas? Permanently?"

Sara snapped her head up toward Judy, her eyes full of unspoken objections. A look of incertitude crossed her face and she averted her gaze.

"Just don't dismiss the idea out of hand, Sara," Judy added without any pressure. "Think about it. It makes sense."

* * *

"So?" Al said, handing Grissom his drink.

Grissom took his eyes off Noah and focused his attention on his friend. He frowned in uncertainty.

Al laughed. "I thought you weren't paying attention," he mused pleasantly. "The wheelchair? Has it become your best friend yet?"

Grissom was going to reply but he suddenly caught sight of Heather and Brass arriving. Al followed his friend's gaze and leaned over, placing his arm on his shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, Gil. Call if you need anything."

Grissom nodded at Al distractedly, his eyes intently focused on the arriving couple. He was astounded on how pallid and drawn Heather looked. She seemed to have lost a lot of weight in very little time and was a shadow of her former self. Grissom sighed and then smiled a little when Heather brought her gaze up to meet his. She returned Grissom's smile with an awkward one of her own and turned toward Brass, acknowledging something he had said to her with a soft nod. Brass had his hand in the small of her back and Grissom felt a little comfort in the thought that at least she had him to lean on and wasn't left to cope on her own.

Brass was the first to talk. "Sara didn't make it?" he asked a little sadly with a quick glance at Heather.

Grissom flicked his gaze from Heather to the detective. "She's in the kitchen, with Judy. Come to think of it; she's been there some time. Maybe I should go and check on her."

"I'll go," Brass offered a little too readily for Grissom's liking but the latter nodded his accord regardless.

Brass turned toward Heather. "Shall I get you a drink?" Heather smiled and shook her head, thanking him. He then turned back to Grissom. "I won't be long, buddy." He smiled a little uncomfortably but Heather and Grissom were staring at each other and didn't notice.

Grissom broke the awkward silence first. "Shall we go for a-" He was going to say 'walk' and he closed his eyes irritably, rephrasing his question. "Shall we go over there?" he said nodding toward a wooden bench in a quieter spot of the backyard. Heather followed his gaze and nodded her head. Grissom released the brakes on the wheelchair and moved away, Heather forlornly following behind him.

He reached the bench and Heather sat on it, setting her purse on her lap. "How's Alison doing?" he asked quietly, his eyes wandering toward the patio, checking for Sara.

Heather focused her gaze on a bougainvillea shrub in the distance and shrugged. She remained silent for a while before replying, "Not well." She let out a long breath and turned to look at Grissom. He was watching her with compassion in his eyes and she smiled a small watery smile. "She's on anti-depressants. She's unresponsive; she barely eats or drinks anything. She barely sleeps and when she does…" She sighed, stopping mid-sentence and turned her teary gaze away. "She hasn't uttered a word since we found her. Not a single word; selective mutism due to the trauma, they say. She screams if I suggest we go outside, even to the backyard she used to love so much." She wiped a tear angrily. "The only positive reaction we've had so far is when Jim came to return her teddy. She snatched it off him and hasn't let go of it since." Heather lapsed into silence, fumbling in her purse for a tissue.

"Is Jerome with her now?"

Heather nodded as she carefully dabbed her eyes with the tissue. "One of us has to stay with her at all times. He's moved in with us and that helps…"

Grissom nodded sympathetically. He caught a glimpse of Sara with Nick, Greg and Noah on the patio and smiled absently, grateful that he had such amazing love in his life. She didn't look happy but she wasn't as sad as she had been when they first arrived. Sara felt his gaze on her face and slowly turned her head toward him. Grissom allowed his eyes to caress her face lovingly, letting her know she had nothing to fear by his conversation with Heather and they shared a small, hesitant and yet devoted smile.

Heather's next words broke him out of his daydream. "Grissom," she said placing her hand over his arm but jerking it back almost immediately self-consciously. She then looked over to the patio, checking that Sara hadn't been witness to it. "I…feel responsible. I am so sorry for what's happened to you and Ali. I-"

"I called your house a couple of times," Grissom said. "I left messages. Both times." Although involuntarily, his tone was curt, almost reproachful and Heather's face darkened.

"I know. And I thank you for your concern. But I felt it was best, considering, that I gave you and Sara some time together. I think I did enough damage…" Heather bit her bottom lip, debating with herself whether she should tell Grissom Sara knew about their – her little indiscretion. Deciding not to, she continued, "I stopped by the hospital to see you when they discharged Ali but you hadn't regained consciousness."

Taken aback by this sudden discovery, Grissom arched a questioning brow and watched Heather intently for a moment. She looked uncomfortable and kept flicking her gaze around the patio anxiously. Grissom had originally put it down to her looking for Brass but no. He smiled as realisation hit him; she was worried she'd come face to face with Sara. "She knows, Heather. I told her." He shook his head with a weary smile. "She already knew."

Heather snapped her head round to him. "I know," she sighed. "We had words…" She paused. "Do you want me to speak to her? Explain?"

"No! God no. No. We're fine but I…still would have liked to have seen Alison, to thank her for what she did. She was very brave, Heather and she was a lot of support to me…" his words trailed as he recalled their first talk through the door. He looked down to the ground, lapsing into silence.

When neither had spoken after long minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, Grissom sighed, saying, "I'd understand if you thought it wouldn't be good for her to see me…like this," he added with a look to his lap, "but-"

"Jim said you were leaving tomorrow."

Grissom seemed surprised by the interruption. "We are." He sighed, "We were but I-"

"Would you? Really?" she asked, meeting his gaze. The desperate hope in her voice was heartbreaking.

Grissom smiled tenderly and then nodded. "What has the psychiatrist advised?"

Heather scoffed. "The usual. They don't want to push her; they're unable to reach in to her. Neither can I for that matter."

He nodded solemnly. "Would you mind if I brought Sara along?"

Heather frowned in bafflement and pushed back a strand of black hair from her eyes. "Sara? Why? What could she say or do that could help Ali?" she asked defensively.

Grissom averted his gaze to the patio, zooming in on his wife. Noah was sitting on her lap playing with a cell phone. He smiled unconsciously as he debated with himself whether to voice his thinking, yet knowing it wasn't his place to divulge Sara's most guarded secret. And yet, he knew because she had been through such a traumatic ordeal herself that she would know how to relate to Alison.

"Grissom?"

He turned back to Heather with a sigh. "I don't know," he replied to her former question. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything before I spoke with Sara."

"Grissom, you're not making any sense." She paused, frowning. "You think she wouldn't help because of what I did?"

"No," he said softly.

Heather turned her gaze to the middle distance and pinched her lips together in thought. "I tried apologising to her but…," she shrugged, "she's angry at me. It's perfectly understandable."

"Sara wouldn't be doing it for you, though, would she?" he said with a small smile and a shrug. "But I think she would do it for Alison."

"Do what?" Sara asked quietly as she joined the pair.

* * *

The big, heavy, wooden door opened a crack and then wider. "Grissom," Heather murmured with a small smile. Her gaze slid up to Sara, who was standing a little back and carrying a smiling Noah in her arms. Her smile widened in genuine gratitude toward Sara. "Thank you," she whispered meaningfully. Sara nodded back with a small, uneasy smile. "Come in. Ali's in the conservatory, playing."

Grissom led the way to the kitchen in silence. When he got there, he stopped on noticing Alison sitting on a rug in the corner of the conservatory, playing with her dolls. She didn't seem to realise she wasn't on her own any more, so engrossed she was in her own world.

Heather approached her granddaughter with hesitation. "Ali? Darling? A very good friend of mine's here to see you." The little girl froze in her game but made no sound or eye contact. "Can he come and say hello to you and your dolls?" Heather then asked.

Alison shrugged a small shoulder in reply but nothing more. Heather looked up toward Grissom and gave a small nod. With a couple of turns of the wheels of his chair he found himself at the edge of the rug, while Sara stayed back with a wide-eyed Noah.

"Hello, Alison," Grissom whispered cautiously.

The little girl startled on hearing Grissom's voice but she kept her gaze on the doll as tears immediately built in her eyes.

Thinking that maybe what they were doing wasn't such a good idea after all, he looked up toward Heather with a questioning stare. Heather nodded her head so he continued. "I'm Gil. Do you remember me?"

Alison gave a small scared nod of her head and clutched her doll tighter to her chest. She began to rock gently upon herself, refusing still to make eye contact.

"I came to say thank you." He paused, searching for words a five-year-old would comprehend. "You saved me. You saved my life. You were very brave when you made that call to the Police. You know that's how they were able to find us."

Alison remained silent and Grissom wasn't sure whether she had heard him at all. She stopped rocking and began brushing and stroking her doll's hair very gently.

Suddenly, Noah started to become agitated. At first, he whimpered because he wanted to get down from his mother's arms and then he began to cry, thrashing about into her tight hold. Sara tried to shush and comfort him as best she could. In the end, she made to leave the room but Heather stopped her. She put her hand on Sara's shoulders and pointed toward Alison.

Alison was watching Noah and Sara intently, as though hypnotised, an unconscious wistful smile on her lips. She didn't seem to mind Noah's crying at all, on the contrary. Sara kept her eyes on the little girl and her face neutral as she stepped forward very slowly. She then set Noah down on the tiled floor by the wheelchair and stood back. The boy immediately ceased his crying and clambered to his feet, holding on to his father's pant leg for balance. He turned toward Alison and extended his hand toward the doll, babbling animatedly.

Alison's smile widened on watching Noah but she hid the doll she was playing with behind her back. Noah was about to start whimpering again when Alison chose another doll, which she then silently passed on to him. He snatched it off her, clumsily pulling it by the hair, and brought it to his mouth.

Grissom turned toward Heather. She was smiling, watching the scene unfold, tears streaming down her face. She crouched down on the rug near Noah and started talking to him softly. Grissom felt Sara's hand on his left shoulder and he leaned his cheek against it, nuzzling to it before looking up over his shoulders to catch her eyes. He smiled at her with all the tenderness, love and gratitude he could muster. It had been her idea to bring Noah along.

Sara gave a small nod in reply and knelt down behind Noah, who shifted position to sit on her lap. "His name's Noah," she said softly, addressing the little girl, "and I'm Sara." She smiled when Alison glanced from Noah to her. "Can he play with you and your dolls?"

Alison seemed to think about it and then she nodded her head slowly. She seemed to retreat back upon herself for a moment and then frowned on noticing the wheelchair, which she studied in detail. She then slowly lifted her gaze to Grissom's leg and then to his face. She stared at him for a long while in silence.

"Couldn't they fix you either?" she uttered almost inaudibly.

Heather gasped and Grissom was lost for words. He felt Sara's hand reach over to squeeze his arm comfortingly and swallowed the lump in his throat. "No," he replied in a whisper. He shrugged his shoulders sadly at the little girl while managing a wobbly smile. "I'm just glad I'm back with the people I love."

Alison thought about that for a moment, turned her head toward Heather and smiled. "Me too."


End file.
